The Coming of Someday
by FrostInTheWarren
Summary: The one thing Jack wanted was to be seen. Now that he is, he has no idea what he's supposed to do. 300 years of loneliness and trust issues don't just go away. Of course, the memories he's getting in his sleep may answer a few questions. (Or: Jack realizes things, the Guardians have a lot to make up for, and Bunny finally gets some Jack.) Jackrabbit. Sequel to The Nature of Belief
1. Deep in your eyes

**Sequel!**  
**\(=.=)/**  
**We've made it! Oh, what I have planned...**  
**I did warn about feels, right? Because that's a thing. A big thing.**  
**Also-like, 200% more Jackrabbit is happening in this one. I mean it. I might even have to up the rating.**  
**(Cause it's gonna get _hot_ in here.)**  
**Songs this chapter was written to: _Baby Mine_ by Alison Krauss; _Storm Warning_ by Hunter Hayes; _This Is Halloween_ from Nightmare Before Christmas (it's Halloween, of course I'm listening to it); and _Titanium_ by David Guetta feat. Sia.**

* * *

Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things.

-Cicero, _De Oratore, _55 B.C.

* * *

**Present:**

When left to its own devices, Jack Frost's mind had a way of convincing itself of things. Usually they were good things. (_If you keep trying then __**someday **__someone will see you, __**someday **__you'll be happy, __**someday **__you won't feel so heavy that it almost hurts to breathe.)_ But sometimes, unfortunately, they weren't.

It was odd to imagine his world with more people in it.

So, for a while, he didn't.

Jack didn't see the Guardians for three months following the Easter debacle with Pitch. He'd spent the time traveling instead. He'd taken a nap on the Eiffel Tower, sat on the hands of Big Ben, laughed at tourists that skittered the edge of the Grand Canyon, and scampered around the mountainous areas of Japan. He'd resisted the urge to try and visit them, despite what Bunny had previously told him. (_If he crowded them too much they wouldn't want him anymore. They'd shove him aside and wouldn't __**believe **__in him or __**see**__ him anymore and he'd be __**alone**__ again. And please please please no—)_

He couldn't risk that. Not after tasting what belief was like.

He finally decided to go back to his Den in Burgess when his sleeping became off. It wasn't that he was sleeping in trees and snow piles that caused it, either. He'd been doing that for centuries whenever he was away from his Den. It was the sleep itself that was odd. It had become riddled with flashing colors and muffled voices with faces that he never remembered in the morning. He worried himself exhausted, waking up panting and gasping each time. It got to the point that he was constantly tired.

So home it was, if only to get a proper rest.

It was late into the night during mid-July when Jack dropped down into the Den through the skylight-entrance, too tired to wonder why the rock he normally used to cover it and keep rodents and animals out was moved. He blinked languidly and tried to fight off the tired laxness in his muscles. He'd crossed to the wall-knob to hang his staff before realizing someone was in the Den with him.

Jack froze briefly, and then his hands were pulling the staff into ready position and he spun to face the intruder. His staff glowed a dim blue in the darkness, his voice quiet and cold to match it. "Who's there?"

"Dabuh." A candle was lit, and Phil the yeti stared back in exasperation. "Grenshnow."

Jack flinched and pulled his staff back, the glow fading. "Phil?"

Phil nodded. He set the candle down on Jack's table and began to light the others. Jack watched him, staff lowered and a slow smile lifting his lips. "You see me," he said, and the words didn't come out as hard as they once had.

Phil paused, and looked Jack over. This was his first time seeing Jack since getting the boy's broken body back to the pole. He set the last candle down and walked up to Jack. With one big hand, he ruffled Jack's hair.

He grunted a few words. '_I see you_.'

Jack looked up at him with obvious affection, relishing the touch. "Good. That's good."

A massive understatement, but Phil let it go. He began checking the bags under Jack's eyes and the tired creases at the corners of his lips.

"I'm fine." Jack waved him off, and hung up his staff. As he sat at the table and noticed Phil was still watching him, Jack realized with a jolt of guilt why Phil was really there. "I'm sorry I worried you."

Phil's frame eased, and he nodded. He sat with Jack at the table. The chair creaked under his size and weight.

Jack winced. "Sorry. I'll have to make one that's more yeti-friendly."

Phil shrugged.  
Jack narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "How did you even find this place? The only person I've ever shown it to is—" Jack paused, lips parting in a small 'o.' "Baby Tooth showed you, didn't she?" Phil nodded. Pursing his lips, Jack looked down at the table. "Did, did you come every day?"

Phil's stare was an answer in itself, and Jack scratched the table top with a fingernail. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Phil reached out and laid his hand over Jack's comfortingly.

Taking a deep breath, Jack shook his dark mood off and rapped his knuckles on the table. He gestured around the cave. "So, this is my place. I carved out the shelves in the walls. I'm a carver myself, you know. I made my own knitting needles and loom and furniture too. I think the bookshelf was the easiest of the big pieces, but the chest wasn't too bad either." He was babbling awkwardly, but he foraged on because damn it, this was _his _home, and he was _proud_ of it. "It took me about seven or eight decades to get it just right, and yeah, the bed is just a nest of blankets and pillows, but—"

Phil's hand squeezed on his, and it made him stop. Phil took his time gazing about the room, lingering on Jack's chest and other big features before nodding his approval. Jack smiled, suddenly much more relaxed. "Thank you," he murmured.

Phil squeezed again, and then he pulled his hand away. Jack settled in his chair. He reached into his pocket and began pulling items from it.

"So," he said, and his carved angel came out first, hitting the table with a soft _thunk_ as he set it down, "how is everyone?"

Phil grunted, mumbling some positive sounding words in Yetish. He watched Jack take out another item, and recognized it. The horse he'd carved last Easter for his cold companion, not knowing at the time that that same companion was named Jack Frost. (Phil felt some guilt about that. He'd been so close to seeing Jack for so long, if only he'd made the connection between his cold companion and the myth sooner.) He watched the boy handle it so carefully, and wondered if perhaps it hadn't been the first gift Jack had ever received.

_(It had, and it was amazing that Jack hadn't even considered that until he was sitting on the roof of a mountain temple in China mid-June, watching the stars. He cherished it all the more for that simple fact.)_

"Good then?"

Phil nodded.

Jack hummed. "Even Bunny? I know he took last Easter pretty bad…_what?_"

Phil was giving him a knowing look with raised eyebrows.

"I'm just concerned for a _mutual_ acquaintance of ours!"

Phil cocked his head. His eyebrows climbed higher.

Jack shot him a flat look. "Shut up, Phil."

Phil chuckled, fur swaying around his mouth.

Jack smiled at the sound. He was having a conversation, he realized. A real, not-just-talking-to-himself conversation. Granted Phil spoke very little, and what he did speak Jack had to interpret based on context and tone since he didn't speak the language, but it counted! The only other person he'd ever done this with was Baby Tooth. Relaxed as he was, he felt the lethargy return. He made to stand, thinking to be an actual host and find _something_ to offer, but stumbled back into his chair.

Phil's laugh stopped, and he made a concerned sound.

"It's nothing." Jack stood again, slowly this time. "I'm just a little tired."

Phil huffed disbelievingly, and got up as well. He carted Jack to his nest of blankets and ushered him into it. Jack's hands immediately began searching through until he found his stuffed tiger, marked with the obvious signs of repair over the decades.

"Really, Phil, I'm fine!" Jack protested.

Phil ignored him, and to his great embarrassment, _actually tucked him in._

"Phiiiil," he whined, squirming.

Phil shook a scolding finger and mimed for Jack to sleep.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Okay, I get it." His voice was already growing soft, the combined comfort of home and bed dragging on his tired eyelids. "Thanks for coming, Phil."

Phil nodded, and pat Jack's head. Jack smiled, eyes closing.

"No, really," Jack said. "It made me happy."

Phil pet Jack's hair until he was certain the other was asleep, then blew out the candles. Gazing about the room, Phil took it all in once more before pulling the snow globe from where he'd put it on the bookshelf, and opened a portal to the Workshop. He disappeared inside, and in a flash of blue was gone.

* * *

**Memory:**

Jackson Overland believed in dark things. Very few others did, but he didn't mind that the majority found him a bit odd for it. That was their own fault, after all. If they got caught by whatever things hid in the dark it wasn't his problem. (The ever-growing big brother instincts in him declared this statement a bold-faced lie.) He'd seen enough moving shadows from the corner of his eyes and heard enough stories from travelers to know better.

There was _something_ lurking in the dark. He just knew it. (But this something wasn't like the _monsters_. Oh no, those were different. The something was just a lurker. Monsters, on the other hand; he'd heard enough whispers to know what those were like. Creatures in the woods with more claws than teeth and a faceless being that constantly watched. He'd never seen one, but he'd be a fool not to take them into consideration when he overheard the hushed conversations around the nearby village.)

When he first heard tale of the Bogeyman, it seemed a more fitting name than none for his perceived shadow lurker, that vague _something_.

It was summer when thirteen-year-old Jackson's life changed as a result. An admittedly small change to start, but important nonetheless.

He carried a laundry basket for his mother as she hung them on the line behind their home. The smell of cotton and damp teased his nose, and he twitched it to relieve the tickle. A warm breeze tangled in his unruly hair, like it was trying to play with him. Jack was grateful for it, at least, as it helped alleviate some of the uncomfortable stickiness the heat caused. It was personally far too warm for Jack's tastes, and he wanted nothing more than to run down to the lake and go swimming. His mother had promised he could go after he helped her, so Jack sighed and went on with it, bored out of his mind.

He cast his eyes about the area, looking for anything to relieve the monotony. His brown eyes skipped over a shadow in the tree line, then darted back.

Eyes. _Silver_ eyes stared out from the shadows. Their gazes locked, and those eyes must have been as wide and surprised as his before his mother's voice shocked him into dropping the basket.

"Jackson! Are you listening?"

"Yes Mom!" Jack picked the basket up, throwing shirt sleeves that had flopped over the edges back inside.

He caught a glimpse of her face—pretty, freckles scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and warm brown eyes—as she glanced at him quickly over her shoulder. Reddish-brown hair shook against her shoulder blades as she laughed, smoothing over the trousers she'd just hung.

"Well then," she sounded amused, "hand me your Dad's shirt, please."

Jack did so, pouting as she continued to giggle at him, wiggling his toes in the dirt. He looked back at the tree line.

The shadow and the eyes were gone.

It would be three years before he would see them again, coming on the heels of a monster.

* * *

**Present:**

Jack squirmed in his sleep, brows furrowed. He kicked the blankets, fingers twitching as though to grasp something. His tiger had been lost to the blankets somewhere in the throes of sleep. Finally, his eyes shot open and he stared straight up through the skylight into the early morning sky.

"What…?" he whispered.

_What had he just seen?_

* * *

**Don't get too curious now.**  
**You might hurt yourself.**  
**All will be explained in time.**  
**(Also, have some Phil. Because fuck if I don't love him.)**


	2. Makes no sense for you

**Hey.**  
**Sup.**  
***smile***  
**Have a longer chapter, just because. (Don't expect them all to be this long.)**  
**Songs this chapter was written to: _The Bird and The Worm_ by The Used; _Whispers In The Dark_ by Skillet; _18 & Life_ by Skid Row; and _ULTRAnumb_ by Blue Stahli.**  
***Note that sometimes there may be repeat songs. I like a variety, but I have favorites.**

**(Also, to the reviewer who asked, so long as you pay attention to authors notes I'll keep you posted when something worthy of the M rating is going to happen in chapter so you can be on the lookout to skip it. I won't mark it in the chapter itself, as that would disrupt the flow and that kind of thing annoys me.)**

* * *

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost, _Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, _1923

* * *

**Present:**

Jacks' upper body sprawled across his table as he realized he had no idea how to get to Tooth Palace.

Jack pouted with his cheek pressed to the wood. The last and only time he'd ever been there was during the Pitch-problem. (When he'd still been invisible to them; when Baby Tooth had been all he had and Pitch had _taken_ _her_—)

Jack clenched his fists and took a long, deep breath.

…anyway, he'd travelled by snow globe with the other Guardians then. On his own he only had a vague recollection of warmth and the suggestions of mountains. Admittedly, he hadn't been paying much attention at the time. He'd had more important things to worry about.

Jack huffed and tapped his fingers. He needed to see Toothiana. After the previous night's dream, which he was thinking probably hadn't been a dream at all, this fact had become abundantly clear. He wasn't an expert on memories like she was. If anyone could tell him what was going on, it would be her.

Jack dragged himself upright. He yawned, and smacked his lips. He hadn't gotten back to sleep after he'd awoken from his dream—memory?—the night before, and had spent the day fretting and worrying himself.

Jack stood and picked up his staff. He flew from his cave, making sure to close the entrance behind him.

If North had gotten him to Tooth Palace last time, he could do it again. Or at least give directions.

Even if that meant Jack would officially have to start getting used to his world with more people in it. No matter how much that both thrilled and terrified him.

* * *

When Jack entered North's office through the window (a cleverly concentrated gust of air courtesy of the wind quickly took care of the latch), it was to find he had stumbled into the strangest game of cards he had ever seen.

Bunny slapped four aces onto the table. "How about that, eh?" he said smugly. He discarded a two of hearts face up onto the end of a growing train of cards. Then he sat back with his arms crossed. He smirked a challenge. "Your turn, mate. Unless you wanna just throw the towel in now?"

North laughed. "Never!" He drew a card and added it to his hand. Then he placed a fifth ace on the table. "Plays on you."

"_What?_" Bunny lurched forward. "You can't—there are only four aces in a deck!"

"And now there are five." North played a same suit straight of five cards. He discarded the final card in his hand, a seven of diamonds. "And I am out."

Bunny sputtered, staring between North's cards and the two kings in his own hand. "You—but—you _cheat!_"

"Whaaat?" North spread his hands wide in a gesture of innocence. "I do not cheat!"

"North, we were playing rummy with _one_ deck of cards. _You_ had a fifth ace."

"It is a special deck."

"_You cheat!_"

Jack's poorly suppressed chuckles caught their attention from where he hovered on the window sill.

"Um," he waggled his fingers at them nervously, "hi."

"Jack!" North scooped all the cards together, much to Bunny's disgruntlement. He gathered them and placed them in a desk drawer. "What are you doing here?"

"I…," Jack crept backward on the sill, "I can leave?"

"No, of course not!" North got up and ushered Jack in with a hand on Jack's shoulder, slipping the window shut. "What are you needing?"

Then a curious look squinted his eyes. "Wait, how did you get past the wards?"

"Practice," Jack replied. North shot him a wondering look, but Jack continued, "I was just wanting to ask you something."

"Well, you picked a good time," North said while Bunny rolled his eyes. "We are happy to help."

"Where you been, mate?" Bunny asked. "None of us have seen you in months."

Jack leaned on his staff, fingers roving over the contours. "I've been around. Travelling. I thought about freezing Niagara Falls again, but it's out of season so I decided against it."

Bunny blinked at him. "_You're_ the one that froze the Falls?"

"In a couple different ways, a couple different times, but yeah." Jack's face sobered. "Except in 1912. That wasn't me."

"Well," North sat back in his chair, "we are happy to have you here now."

For a moment Jack didn't know what to say. He looked down at his feet uncertainly. It was weird to talk to them so…normally. Like he hadn't been invisible to them for three hundred years.

"Jack?"

He glanced up at Bunny from under his lashes. Bunny watched him carefully, and Jack knew he must have some idea of how Jack felt because there was guilt in his eyes. "What do you need, Jack?"

_What do you need?_

Such a loaded question. Now that there were people to see him and who actually _wanted_ to help him, he wasn't sure he knew the answer anymore.

But no, in this moment what he wanted was help with his memories. He could worry about what he _needed_ later.

"I want directions to Tooth Palace," he blurted. "I've been there once, but it was with your snow globe in the sleigh, and I don't know how to get there on my own."

North blinked at the rush of Jack's words. "You were in the sleigh with us when we went to Tooth Palace?" Now North's face was creeping with guilt, and Jack felt both satisfied that it was there and slightly sick that it existed. Jack nodded, and North sighed. "I can give you snow globes to get you there quickly, if you like. What do you need to see Tooth for?" North was already reaching into a desk drawer for one of the globes.

Jack hesitated, but ultimately decided there was no harm in telling them. "I need her help with my memories."

North paused, looking at Jack. "Your memories?"

Jack nodded. "From when I was human, I think. I've been having dreams."

North pulled his hand from the drawer, and placed the snow globe on the surface of his desk. His brow furrowed. "You do not remember being human?"

"No." Jack slumped on his staff. "One day I just woke up. And Man in the Moon told me my name, but…that was all he ever told me." His voice grew quiet. "It was all anyone told me."

"What Manny did was old magic." North suddenly seemed weary. "You do not know why he did it?"

"No, but I'm hoping that if I get my memories back I might find out."

North's gaze was long and heavy. "You really remember nothing from before?"

"No." Jack fidgeted nervously, catching on to the significance North seemed to place in this. "Why? Is it that important?"

"The implications are…," North trailed. "Well. The only cases of spirits not remembering their lives before, which is very rare, are ones that—"

"North." Bunny's voice was sharp. "Let him find out on his own."

"Bunny—"

"No, Nicholas." Bunny's words held an old authority Jack had never heard before. North's eyes widened. "I know what you're thinkin', and if it's true it's something he has to figure out in his own time." Bunny looked to Jack, eyes earnest and honest. "Trust me on this, mate."

And the weird thing was, Jack _did_. He was confused and worried about what their cryptic discussion meant, but Bunny's concern seemed genuine. So for now Jack let it go. If they were right about whatever they were talking about, then he'd find out soon enough on his own anyway.

"…fine." North smiled minutely. "You have not called me Nicholas in a long time."

Bunny smirked. "Haven't needed to, you big oaf."

A yawn snuck up on him, and Jack attempted to hide it behind his hand unsuccessfully.

"You are tired," North noted.

"I didn't sleep much last night," Jack admitted.

North stroked his beard. "In that case, you should stay the night. I will send a message to Tooth for her to come in the morning."

Jack frowned. "Why? I could just pop in real quick—"

North's head shake effectively denied him. "You are exhausted already, and this will not be a short conversation. I can _feel _it." North pat his stomach. "In my belly."

Jack yawned again, and he'd have been lying if the thought of a warm bed wasn't comforting.

"Go to bed, mate," Bunny reinforced. "North's right."

"That is first with you," North muttered, and Bunny shot him a dry look.

Jack pursed his lips and nodded a bit reluctantly. "I guess."

North smacked the desk approvingly. "Good, good! You can use your room from last time you were here, in the guest hall. Do you remember the way, or…?"

Jack waved him off before North could stand. "I've got it. How hard can it be to navigate this place?"

* * *

Hard.

Very hard.

Jack threw his hands up in frustration. "This is ridiculous! How hard can it be to find one room?!"

"Engh?"

Jack turned around, and Phil stared curiously back at him. He'd passed other yetis in his search, but they'd been busy and only given him an amazed look before carrying on. It figured he'd come across Phil eventually.

Jack smiled. "Hey, Phil! You wouldn't happen to know where the guest hall is, would you? North's letting me stay the night."

Phil nodded, and waved for Jack to follow. Jack wobbled tiredly on his feet next to him and yawned. Phil huffed. He turned, and scooped Jack into his arms.

"Phil!" Jack protested, flailing. "I'm not a child!" Or—" Jack scoffed in outrage, "—some kind of-of _princess_!"

Phil ignored him and continued walking.

Jack eventually settled down, crossing his arms and pouting. He made sure to pay attention to the route Phil took, so he could avoid this ever happening again. It didn't take long—he'd been closer than he thought—and Phil moved Jack to one arm so he could open the familiar door to the room he'd used last time he was at the Pole.

"You know," Jack drawled, "you _could_ just put me down now."

Phil strode into the room, studious in his ignorance.

Jack rolled his eyes, and flopped his head back. Phil crossed the floor, and pulled back the bedcovers. He set Jack on the bed and proceeded to tuck him in.

"Phil," Jack said with a flat look, "why do I feel like you're going to make a habit of this?"

Phil finished his tucking, and then gave Jack a very big smile. Jack snorted a surprised laugh. Jack watched Phil close the curtains against the constant summer sun, bathing the room in twilight. Phil came back to Jack's bedside to pet his hair.

Jack sighed and closed his eyes. He liked it when someone pet his hair, he realized, and then wondered why.

"Thanks Phil," he said, because he _wanted_ to.

Phil hummed, low and calming, and it was the last thing Jack heard before he fell asleep.

Phil left the room leisurely, shutting the door quietly behind him.

**Memory:**

He was running.

Sixteen year-old Jack's feet pounded the ground, twigs snapping under his heels, and _he had to be quieter._ His breath came in pants, his lungs burning in his chest. His muscles ached, screaming for him to cease his mad dash.

But he couldn't.

If he did, It would catch him. Catch him and _eat_ him, just like those travelers whose corpses he'd found It _feasting_ on by the lake—

He stumbled, catching himself on a tree. It was hard to get his body to obey him and start moving again, but somehow it did. He was slower though, and that was bad.

He couldn't keep running for much longer.

Jack scanned the area ahead as he ran, searching, searching…_there._

Up ahead was a tree with a branch _just_ low enough.

He jumped as he reached it, grasping the branch and scrambling onto it. He climbed close to the trunk, where the foliage was good and thick and would hide him best. He would have climbed higher, but he could already hear It coming, Its seemingly boundless stamina keeping It from sounding even a little winded.

Jack brought his hands to his mouth and nose, attempting to muffle his panted breathing. He held very still.

It paused next to his tree. He could hear It breathing in raspy exhales wet with excess saliva. Jack closed his eyes, a whimper shaking, barely held back, in his chest.

_Don't see me. Don't see me. __**Don't see me.**_

It took a long, heavy sniff.

And Jack was plucked from the tree like an egg from the nest by a hungry serpent, long clawed fingers wrapped painfully tight around his ankle. He slammed into the ground with a groan, and then It lifted him up, so he dangled upside down by this ankle in Its grip. Jack blinked, clearing the fog of pain from his mind, and began thrashing. His shirt fell down his chest to bunch at his armpits. It held him tight, and Jack's movements seemed to have no effect on Its strength. As tall as It was, Jack's face was level with the pale skin just below Its chest.

Jack's eyes scanned It over, and he began to tremble as he got a good look. It was covered in filth, mud and sweat and _red, _greasy hanks of dark hair hanging in a face that could have been human once. Saliva dripped from a flat, lipless mouth that housed sharp, pink-tinted teeth. Lidless eyes, dilated so wide there was no hope of discerning if there'd ever been a color, never flickered down to Jack's face, focused instead on his exposed skin. Its breath was hot on Jack's stomach, and with it came a smell of blood and rot.

Jack trembled, still trying to struggle despite his burning, tired muscles and the blood rushing to his head.

"I don't want to die," Jack sobbed, throat thick as tears ran from his eyes and into his hair. "_I_ _don't want to die!_"

It leaned forward, tongue rasping against the softest, fleshiest part of Jack's belly. He screamed. "No, no, no, no, please, _no!"_

Its mouth opened wide, teeth dripping saliva, and this was it. _It was going to eat him. _Terror reached into the deepest part of Jack's mind and made him close his eyes to scream the only thing he could think of in a final, desperate plea, "_**Daddy!**_"

It screeched, and suddenly let go of Jack's ankle. Jack's arms guarded his head as he hit the ground in a heap. Jack scrabbled away on hands and knees, collapsing against the nearest tree before turning around.

He watched a scythe, black and wickedly sharp, finish slicing through Its neck. Its head fell from Its shoulders, body crumpling with it. Blood leaked from Its neck in a mess of dark red. Jack watched It bleed, and then the scythe entered his vision again, swiping down to embed in Its chest, where the heart was. The body convulsed, and then as Jack watched, dissolved into ash.

Jack followed the line of the scythe back to the owner. Silver eyes watched him from the placid face of a man clothed entirely in black, with skin Jack could only call light gray. The scythe faded into shadowy wisps, and was gone.

Jack swallowed. "You saved me," he said.

Then he turned, leaned over a large tree root, and threw up.

When he finished, he spit a few times to get rid of the taste and help with the acid burn in his throat. He turned back around, fixing his shirt around himself properly (and trying to smother the feeling of hot breath and tongue on his stomach). He was almost surprised to see the man was still there, watching with familiar eyes and his hands clasped behind his back.

"Thank you," Jack croaked, using his sleeve to mop the remaining tears from his face and the wet running from his nose. The man's face squinted a bit at his action, and Jack scowled. "I don't exactly have a handkerchief with me," he snapped.

The man blinked, and took a deep breath. "Are you alright?"

Jack frowned, mouth tight. The man's voice was smooth. Jack would almost call it cultured, and it had an accent he couldn't quite place. "I," _no, _"yes. I'm fine. Thank you."

The man nodded, and Jack finally looked long and hard into his eyes. His familiar eyes.

_Silver _eyes.

Jack's lips parted. "You're the Bogeyman," he murmured.

"I am Pitch Black," he said, and Jack supposed that was supposed to be some kind of confirmation. "You…_believe _in me." The words were steady, but skeptical.

Jack nodded. There was a barely noticeable pause, and Jack forced a grin. "So, you're not gonna scare me?"

Pitch scowled. "How? By hiding under your _bed_? That's all I seem to be good for these days," he said bitterly.

"Well, you could have let that thing eat me," Jack pointed out. "I was plenty terrified then."

Pitch's eyes narrowed. "Believe me," he intoned darkly, "I know."

Jack's gaze flicked to the ash. "What was it?"

"A wendigo." Pitch scoffed. "Cannibals turned monster by magic."

Jack breathed shakily. He levered himself to his feet, using the trunk for support. Jack looked around, and then looked hesitantly at the Bogeyman. "Do you know which way my home is?"

Pitch slowly extended his arm, pointing to Jack's right. Jack nodded, and Pitch lowered his hand, turning around and beginning to walk into the shadows.

Jack licked his lips, and called, "Pitch?" The Bogeyman paused, his back still turned. "Thank you," Jack repeated.

Pitch looked over his shoulder, silver eyes hesitant and assessing. "What's your name?" Jack smiled, tiny and as sincere as he could manage through the lingering shock. "Jackson," he said, "Overland."

Pitch nodded. "Thank you as well, Jackson."

Jack's brow furrowed. "What for?"

"For believing in me." Pitch looked away, and disappeared into the shadows, his final words echoing softly. "I will see you again soon, Jackson."

He was gone.

* * *

**Present:**

Jack Frost woke up screaming.

Mere moments later his door burst open, and Bunnymund charged into the room with boomerangs at the ready. "What is it?!" he rushed. "What's wrong?"

"Wendigo. I was—" Jack halted, as he realized he'd just woken Bunnymund because of his dream. He looked down at the blankets, clutching them in his fists as embarrassment frosted his cheeks. "Sorry," he muttered. "I was sleeping."

Bunny lowered his boomerangs, sighing with relief.

"What is wrong? Yetis say there was screaming." North entered the room in his sleep clothes, a thick white nightgown and hat that seemed like something straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. Jack almost expected him to have a matching candlestick rather than the saber he did carry. His lips twitched, and if he hadn't still been half terrified and half embarrassed he might have laughed.

"He had a nightmare about a wendigo," Bunny explained.

"No," Jack corrected. He looked up, fighting the embarrassment to look Bunny in the eye. "It wasn't a nightmare. It was a memory."

Bunny's eyes went wide, and darted over to North's equally shocked expression. "When did you say Tooth was coming?"

"Morning," North replied, scrubbing a hand across his cheek.

"Well, I think we'd best make it sooner."

North nodded, exiting the room. "I will send a message."

Jack fiddled with the blankets as it became quiet. The embarrassment began to fade, but the _feeling _of a tongue on his belly, the _smell_ of rot and blood…Jack shuddered.

"Are you alright?" Jack glanced up as Bunny approached the bed.

Jack met his gaze. "I'm," _scared_, "fine," he said.

Bunny watched him carefully. Jack jolted when a warm, furred hand grasped his shoulder. "It's okay," Bunny said. "You're safe."

Jack blinked, and slowly relaxed as the terror faded. Safe. He was safe.

But…

The image of Pitch Black from his memory surfaced, and confusion along with it. Why was this Pitch so different from the one he'd met three months ago?

What had happened?

"Come on," Bunny urged, his hand on Jack's shoulder nudging him forward. "Let's get you settled in the sitting room. At least it isn't quite so…," Bunny glanced around at the walls and furniture, all red paint and green upholstery, "_Christmas-y._"

That drew a startled laugh from him, and Bunny smiled. "There you go."

Jack looked at him gratefully, and echoed his words from his memory. "Thank you."

"No problem, mate." Bunnymund nodded towards the door. "Now let's go. I get the feelin' North's gonna try and foist the cheap powdered hot chocolate on us if I don't stop him."

* * *

**Thanks for reading. *grin***


	3. In search of new dreams

**TAKE IT.  
Songs this chapter was written to: _Always_ by Panic! at the Disco; _Fences_ by Paramore; _Healing Incantation_ from Tangled; and oddly enough, and completely unfitting (I blame my mother for this song being here...) _Get Off_ by Prince**.

The richness in life lies in the memories we have forgotten.

-Cesare Pavese, _This Business of Living: A Diary, 1935-1950, _Feb. 13, 1944

* * *

**Present:**

"Baby Tooth!"

The fairy flew into Jack's open arms. She cuddled into his neck, and Jack cradled his hands around her. When he pulled them away she came with them, sitting in his palms. She smiled, and chirped a greeting.

"She's really missed you." Toothiana flew through the door of the sitting room.

Jack wiggled in his seat, throwing his legs over the arm of the plush chair. He set Baby Tooth on his abdomen, where she settled and snuggled down in his hoodie. Jack smiled and nodded at Tooth. "I missed her too."

Tooth chuckled and glanced around the room. "Where are North and Bunny? North's message mentioned he was here…"

Jack smirked. "Bunny's making sure North doesn't poison us with 'that powdered shite' hot chocolate." Jack made air quotes with his fingers. "They should be back in a minute."

Tooth gave an amused nod, and hovered near his chair. She watched him poke Baby Tooth in the stomach, the little fairy giggling and swiping at his finger. Her face was soft.

"You two are pretty close, huh?" she said.

Jack blinked, glancing at Tooth briefly. "Well…" Jack's eyes flicked past her to the fire place all the chairs were centered around. He considered his words and said, "She was my first believer."

He didn't have to look at Tooth's face to see her piercing gaze. He could _feel_ it.

Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "Jack?"

"Hm?" He turned back to Baby Tooth, who lay still and looking up at him comfortingly from his abdomen. He carefully pet the feathers on her head.

"I'm sorry." Tooth flew closer and put her hand on his shoulder. "I really am."

Jack's eyes widened, shoulders stiffening.

No one…no one had ever _apologized_ before.

And why should she? It wasn't her fault he'd been made invisible. She hadn't made him lonely on purpose.

But the twinge of bitterness on his tongue kept him honest with himself.

He _was _upset. He _was_ angry.

Tooth hadn't seen him. North and Bunny hadn't. Sandy hadn't. They hadn't even tried. (Because they hadn't known, he reminded himself. They hadn't meant to, but _they hadn't known_.)

And now Tooth was apologizing. While that made the bitterness fade slightly, it brough to mind an entirely new fear.

Were they only helping him out of guilt? Jack's fingers clenched.

He didn't want that.

"Jack?" Tooth sounded worried.

Pushing away his confusion and uncertainty, he finally looked her in the eye with a gentle smile. "It's okay." _It had't been okay. _"It wasn't too bad."

He was such a liar.

Tooth's face flashed with gratefulness. She looked ready to speak once more, but the entrance of North and Bunny cut her off.

"I have brought hot chocolate!" North said, holding a tray with four cups aloft.

"And the good stuff," Bunny added. Bunny took two mugs from North and walked over to Jack. He handed the winter spirit a mug with a playful wink. "Not that powdered shite."

Jack accepted the drink and shot a sly look at Tooth, who giggled behind her hand.

Bunny's ears shot up, flicking his attention between them. "What?"

"Nothing." Jack smirked and sipped his drink. After so long without eating or drinking regularly, every flavor was intense on his tongue. He closed his eyes and savored it.

"Like hot chocolate, do you?" Bunny asked, and took the chair on his left, Tooth to his right, and North next to her.

Jack sighed pleasurably, sitting up in his chair, being careful not to jostle Baby Tooth as he shifted her to his shoulder. "I do." He took a long sip, the mug already cooling in his hands. "It's my first time."

"You've never had hot chocolate before?" North exclaimed.

"Nope." Jack popped the 'p.' "It's really good."

There was a moment of quiet as North and Bunny shared a look.

"So," Tooth said, "explain exactly what's going on, Jack."

Jack stared into his hot chocolate. "I've been having dreams…memories, when I go to sleep sometimes."

"Memories?" She frowned.

Jack nodded. "I don't remember who I was before I was Jack Frost."

Her eyes widened. "But that would mean you'd—"

"Tooth." Bunny shook his head.

She bit her lip and nodded. "But you say you've been getting memories in your sleep? Memories of before you were Jack Frost?"

Jack nodded again. "I was hoping that you might be able to help."

Tooth took a sip of her drink. "There's really not much I can do," she said bluntly.

"Why not?" Jack leaned forward. "You're the Guardian of Memories!"

"I am." She smiled apologetically. "But I use teeth for small memories that aren't really forgotten, like yours are. If I could find your baby teeth and use them, you would get _some_ back, but if you try to do too many they'd fragment. The remaining memories would be lost or broken." She rolled the mug in her hands. "We could do them one at a time, but it seems like your mind's doing that on its own. If I interfered with that it could have unforeseen consequences."

Jack sat back. "So you can't help?" he asked quietly.

She slowly shook her head. "No. I can't." She grew curious all of a sudden. "Jack? What do you think triggered your memories?"

Jack thought about his recent happenings. "I met you all." He hesitated. "I met Pitch. I'd never really seen him until last Easter, but he felt familiar. And…I've been seeing him. In my memory dreams."

"Did _he_ set the wendigo on you?!" Bunny's anger pulled his ears back, and he ignored Tooth's shocked sound.

Jack shook his head. "No. He _saved _me from it. I was human, apparently, and it would have definitely killed me. But this Pitch was…_different_ from the Pitch I met. I-I even believed in him."

Silence hovered, thick and heavy, and Jack stared awkwardly at the fire.

"Anything else?" Tooth finally asked. Jack thought for a moment, and a smile climbed gently up his cheeks. "I figured out my center."

"Ah." North's eyes were understanding. "What is it?"

"Fun," Jack chuckled, "and joy."

"It fits." North stroked his beard. "And makes sense. The resulting magical boost from discovering your center might have done something. Perhaps acted as key to unlock your memories." North mimed his words with extravagant gestures. "What do you think, Toothy?"

Tooth tapped her fingers on her chin. "It's plausible. Unlikely, but plausible."

"Well, I'm not exactly a normal case," Jack said dryly. "So I'm just going to keep dreaming memories?"

"I believe so," Tooth replied. "They'll probably slow down some now that they've been broken through, but you're going to keep getting them I'd bet."

Jack sighed. "Well," he raised his cup only a little sarcastically, "here's to memories!" Then he tipped his head back, and chugged down the last sweet gulps of his first hot chocolate.

* * *

Jack hung around the rafters in the workshop afterwards, lying across one of the wooden beams on his stomach as he looked out over the workshop proper.

He was getting his memories back. This much was certain. Granted it was in bits and pieces, but…Jackson Overland had been human. Alive, and different, and _human_.

Could he even say he was the same person anymore?

Jack crossed his arms and rested his cheek on them. He hadn't been sure at first, with the first memory. But the second…that fear had been real. When he'd woken up, that fear had been undeniably _his_, even hundreds of years later. He was different; he'd changed and no longer completely resembled the boy from his memories, the boy he'd once been. But he was still him, in some ways. Even if Jackson Overland seemed to be in possession of something Jack Frost wasn't sure he had. Perhaps in time he would, though. Perhaps as he gained these memories back, he could find out what it was that left him unable to completely reconcile the person he now was with the person he'd once been.

A loud clatter below brought Jack from his musings, and he lifted his head to peek at the workshop floor once more.

A light gray female yeti—and really, the only reason he could tell was from observing very closely, and catching on that females tended to be lighter in color than the males—was scrambling to pick up scattered racecar parts. She waved her hands around in a fluster, voice low like all yeti, but clearly embarrassed. The majority of yeti seemed to be giving her sympathetic looks, but in their own rush were unwilling to stop and help her.

Jack bit his lip, about to go down and help her out when he gave pause. Phil had approached the yeti and was aiding her in picking up the pieces. The female yeti had halted her actions, watching Phil with wide gray eyes. Phil set the pieces carefully in her arms, and _oh_. Jack felt a smirk laced with mischief spread across his cheeks.

"What is going on?" North approached the two yeti. "Is someone hurt?"

Phil shook his head, standing. He helped the other yeti stand.

"Again, Debbie?" North's voice was an interesting measure of fond exasperation. "You must be more careful. You are going to get hurt, with your head in the clouds so often."

Debbie looked down bashfully, muttering something Jack couldn't catch (and wouldn't have understood, anyway).

"You have good ideas," North added, in answer to whatever she must have said, "but it is also a good idea to have a time and place, yes?"

Debbie nodded. North pat her shoulder reassuringly, and looked to Phil. "You are Phil?" Phil nodded, and North seemed to scrutinize him closely. "You…you are close to Jack. You used many saved up vacation days on him, I remember."

Yeti had vacation days? Jack marveled. But more importantly, Phil had been using his to wait for Jack while he'd been traipsing around the world? Guilt settled like a stone in his stomach. He'd wondered how Phil got away with being out of the workshop for three months to visit his Den every day and wait, but he hadn't realized…

The guilt was eroded by a wave of sudden gratefulness. Phil had cared about him enough to do that. To use up what must have been nearly a century's worth of vacation days (he couldn't imagine them getting more than one a year, and Phil'd said he'd been coming every day during his absence), just waiting on Jack. To make sure he was okay.

Jack pressed his forehead to his arms. He was so glad to have Phil for a friend.

"Yagnur." Phil's affirmative was loud and certain, and Jack bit his lip against the burst of happiness that watered his eyes.

"Well," North appeared to search for words, "good. We shall have to speak some time. I…do not know you very well, as I do other yeti." North seemed reluctant in admitting it.

Jack looked up in time to catch Phil's shrug. It was understandable. Jack knew how quiet Phil was in comparison to other yeti. He kept to himself for the most part, and was slow to engage. He worked hard, but it was menial tasks and framework rather than ideas and expansion. It was the yeti who did the latter that North associated with most.

Phil nodded, and North bid them goodbye to go to his office. Jack watched Phil look over Debbie protectively. She acted shy, darting her eyes to Phil's quickly just to pull them away a second later. Eventually she smiled, and leaned forward to place a quick kiss to Phil's cheek and scurried away.

Phil stood in shock, staring at the place she'd been standing moments before. Jack giggled gleefully, and floated down from the rafters to hover behind Phil's shoulder.

"Sooo," Jack drawled, "Debbie, huh?"

Phil spun on him, face set back to his usual calm look of neutrality. He raised a brow.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Don't pretend not to know what I'm talking about, you lady killer." Jack winked.

Phil ignored him and walked back to his station, Jack following along.

"Oh come on," Jack teased. "At least tell me when I can expect little baby yetis running around." Phil tossed a wooden block at his head, and Jack dodged. "Woah now! No need for that!"

Phil looked Jack square in the eyes and slowly brought his hands up, folding his fingers over when they reached either side of his head, like a pair of bunny ears. His look was pointed.

Jack blinked innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Phil rolled his eyes, and got back to work carving the joints for a doll. Jack settled on the bench next to him, and decided to watch. If the quiet air between them was comfortable, and if Jack smiled gratefully at him every time Phil sought his approval on the workmanship, then that was between them, wasn't it?

And although he didn't mention it, Jack knew that he was only partially teasing about yeti babies. Phil would make a great father. (If he was thinking about it in reference to himself, then that was just his business as well.)

…he wished he could remember his.

* * *

Jack stayed with north for another few days at his invitation. He spent his time messing with the elves and hovering over Phil's shoulder while he worked. If he wasn't there, he was with North, watching him carve toys from ice. Bunnymund had left the first day, and Jack was loathe to admit that his absence was keenly noticed.

His nights were spent sleeping peacefully without dreams, which was both disappointing and a relief. They were also spent getting tucked in by Phil (Jack had been right—it had become a _thing_), and hadn't _that _been fun to explain to North when he'd come to say goodnight. North had been surprised (and laughing—Jack had _seen_ him hiding it behind his hand), but understanding.

When Jack announced he was leaving, North insisted on taking him home. Jack had agreed reluctantly, and as they stepped through the portal he fiddled with the hem of his hoodie. He gave a similarly stuttering tour to the one he'd given Phil.

"It's not much," Jack said, "but it's mine."

North looked around Jack's Den, a somber look settling on cheeks more suited to being jolly. North placed a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder. "I am sorry."

Another apology.

Jack took a deep breath, and forced another smile. Again, he lied. "It's fine. It wasn't so bad."

North pursed his lips and nodded, then glanced around the room. His eyes alit on the stocking hanging on the wall—hanging there for years and years as Jack had nowhere else to put it—and he approached it. "Did you make this?" North asked curiously.

Jack blushed. "It's-it's not important." Jack gave an exaggerated yawn. "Look, I'm tired, so I'm gonna head to bed."

North acknowledged the not-so-subtle request to leave and bid Jack goodbye.

But as he left the stocking stuck with him in his heart, bringing to mind his naughty list and the name that had topped it for hundreds of years.

A name, North was realizing, he owed a lot more to than he'd ever previously imagined.

* * *

Jack didn't dream again for two weeks, and when he did it was in his Den, curled up in his blankets.

* * *

**Memory:**

Jackson stood in front of a tree by the lake, looking contemplatively at its branches.

"Jack!"

He turned, and a young girl in a brown dress with a single red stripe on the bottom ran up to him. He smiled. "Emma."

She huffed as she came to a stop in front of him. "You…forgot…your shoes." She held them up.

Jack groaned, throwing his head and shoulders back. "Do I _have _to wear them?" he whined. She thrust the shoes out, and Jack reluctantly put on the pair of socks stuffed inside and then the shoes themselves. "You are annoyingly persistent sometimes."

Emma placed her hands on her hips. "That's what little sisters are _for,_ Jack."

"Oh really?" He finished tying the laces on his left boot. "Do you know what big brothers are for?"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "No…," she said warily.

Jack smirked. "Embarrassing little sisters." He backed away and shouted, "Emma Overland snores in her sleep!"

"_Jackson!_" Emma chased after him, and the two ran circles around the tree.

"Her feet smell like wet dog!"

"Jackson!"

"She doesn't know how to swim!"

"Jack, I _swear-!_"

"And perhaps worst of all!" Jack turned, running backwards and adopting a scandalous look. "Emma Overland's got a biiiig birthmark on her—"

Emma tackled Jack to the ground. They rolled around, laughing. Finally they lay collapsed on the grass, panting for breath.

"You're mean," Emma said with no real heat.

Jack gave her a lopsided grin. He stared up at the tree, squinting his eyes.

"I bet I can climb to the top!" He jumped up, and began to climb.

Emma rolled her big brown eyes and laughed. "Careful!" She sat up, watching him climb. She huffed when he swung himself high from branch to branch. "You can be so reckless."

Jack lounged on a branch about halfway up. He put a chin in hand and smirked down at her. "But you love me anyway."

Her smile was answer enough.

* * *

**Present:**

Jack shot up in bed, digging through his blankets frantically. When he found the angel, he held it up in the dim moonlight. Awed fingers traced the features he'd carved so painstakingly so long ago, and finally knew _why_.

The kiss he placed on its head was both apologetic and grateful.

"Emma," he whispered. "Your name was Emma."

His sweet little sister.


	4. Though we're strangers 'til now

**It's been a busy week.**  
**Songs this chapter was written to: _Learn to Be Lonely_ by Minnie Driver; _Paper Walls_ by Yellowcard;_ She Is Love_ by Parachute; _Tokyo (Vampires and Wolves)_ by The Wombats; and_ Odds Are_ by Barenaked Ladies. There might have also been some K-Pop.**

**Also: To the anonymous Kangaroo-you're very welcome, darling. Hang in there, sweetheart, it'll be okay, and if my story is helping then I am grateful it is.**

* * *

"Well, now that we have seen each other," said the Unicorn, "if you believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?"

-Lewis Caroll, _Through the Looking-Glass, _1872

* * *

**Present:**

The next few weeks were fraught with small memories of Emma.

_"Jack, can you fix this for me?"_

_ "Jack, what's taking so long?"_

_ "Ee! Jack, that tickles!"_

_ "Tell me a story, Jack."_

_ "Jack!"_

_ "Jack?"_

_ "I love you, Jack."_

"Jack? Are you okay?"

Jack opened his eyes. Jamie Bennett's face hovered above his. Jack smiled, eyes squinting slightly. "I'm fine, Jamie."

Jamie seemed reluctant to believe him, but backed away. Jack sat up, running a hand through his hair to dislodge any debris from the Bennett's back porch. Autumn was approaching, the leaves beginning to change color.

"I was calling you." Jamie sat next to him, and they watched Sophie run around the yard with a stuffed bunny clutched in one fist trailing behind her. "You wouldn't answer."

Jack folded his arms on his knees, legs dangling over the edge of the porch. "Sorry, Jamie. I've had a lot on my mind lately."

"Well, why don't you play with some other winter people? Playing with friends always helps me." Jamie shrugged like it was obvious.

Jack was quiet.

The Guardians may have been able to see him, but word had been slow to spread that Jack Frost was real, even with them doing it. For the most part Jack Frost was still the mystical world's great myth. And even if they hadn't walked through him, Jack knew he wouldn't have wanted to spend time with his fellow winter spirits or the sprites. He didn't have the greatest memories of them. They tended to turn fun into something crueler.

But that was nothing Jamie needed to hear, so Jack spoke the first excuse that came to mind.

"There aren't a lot of people in the area my age." He shrugged, and blinked when the words proved familiar. An echo of another conversation from a long time ago.

How odd that these pieces of his sister kept appearing when he was around Jamie. (Or not odd at all, since the first time he'd seen the boy after remembering her he'd had to stop himself from grabbing Jamie up into his arms and remind himself that Jamie_ wasn't _Emma. Even if he did have her eyes and her hair color and it had taken _everything he had not to break down into sobs when he'd seen him._)

"That's not an excuse!" Jamie spread his arms to encompass the sky. "You can fly! You can go _anywhere!_ And age doesn't matter—didn't you say the Easter Bunny is _really_ old?"

Sophie heard Jamie's words and clambered toward the porch, collapsing against Jack's legs and forcing him to lean back as she sprawled over his knees. Giggling, she thrust the stuffed bunny in his face. "Jack and bunny play!"

"That's a good idea, Sophie." Jamie pointed at the bunny. "Why don't you play with him? If he's really so old, there probably aren't people his age around either—so he needs someone to play with just as much!"

Jack looked into Jamie's worried (familiar, so very familiar) eyes, and sighed out his nose. He stretched his arms, making a show of standing up. "Fine, fine! I'll go visit him."

Jamie's smile was worth the apprehension Jack felt about speaking with Bunny again.

* * *

_Saying_ he was going to visit Bunny was easier said than done, Jack found. As had been the case with Toothiana, he had no idea where the Warren was. Tumbling through tunnels hadn't been the best means of getting directions last time. He had an idea that it was somewhere in Australia, but he'd never be able to pinpoint it on a map.

So Jack flew around Australia for half a day, just kind of hoping he'd figure it out eventually. The Australian sun was hot, but not so bad that it made him very uncomfortable. He'd been spying on kangaroos in the wild from behind a large rock when _Bunny_ found _him._

"What're you doing here?"

Jack yelped and spun. "How do you _do_ that?"

Bunny raised a furry brow. "I'm a Pooka, mate. Not known for being the loudest of creatures." Bunny cocked his head, one ear straight up and the other bent. Jack absolutely did not find it cute. "What're you doing here, Jack?"

"I came to," Jack halted, fighting back the strange embarrassment he felt burning under his skin. But really, he hadn't come all this way just to back out because he'd been caught spying on kangaroos like the world's chilliest animal lover. "Visit," he finished. "But I didn't know where the Warren was, so I was kind of just…" Jack gestured vaguely.

"Uh-huh." Bunny watched him for a moment, surprised, then nodded and tapped the ground with his foot. A tunnel appeared. Bunny hopped in, and called for Jack to follow.

"Come on then, Frostbite, haven't got all day! I'll give you a tour, if you promise not to freeze anythin'."

Jack clutched his staff and jumped in.

* * *

The first thing Bunny did was show Jack his garden.

"If what you told us is true and you stuck close for most of the Pitch debacle," he'd said, "then you've probably already seen a bit of my Warren. I'm gonna show you the stuff didn't see."

Well, Jack certainly hadn't seen the garden, that was for sure. This was a personal place, Jack could tell. The air was sweet and fragrant. Jack was afraid to touch the flower blossoms, they were so delicate looking.

"And these," Bunny said proudly, leading Jack into a wooded area of trees taller than Jack had ever seen, "are some of the oldest trees in the world. Some of these species have even died out on the surface."

Grateful to be away from the easily damaged flowers, Jack felt more comfortable touching the trees. As Bunny continued walking, explaining the various species, Jack paused by a tree with a thick trunk and heavy laden branches covered in thick leaves, barely allowing the Warren's artificial sunlight to shine through. He placed a hand on the coarse bark, and looked up through the branches. For a moment he considered climbing to the top.

_"You can be so reckless."_

There was a great creaking _moan_ as the tree froze and cracks climbed up the wood. Jack jumped back, surprised at both the memory and shocking blast of cold it had forced out of him onto the tree. Horrified, he stared at the cracks and ice clinging to the branches and trunk. A few heavy leaves fell delicately to the earth.

_Oh no._ He'd done it. He'd messed up. He'd gone and done _this_ and now—

"Why—?" Bunny ran back to him, anger beginning to mar his expression. "What'd you do that for?!"

"I-I," Jack stuttered.

"I just _told_ you how rare they are!" Bunny swung his arm out to gesture at the tree, and Jack flinched back in the face of his anger. Bunny froze at the action.

"I'm sorry," Jack choked out. "I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry_ Bunny. I didn't _mean_ to—!" Jack's voice was descending into panic. He fought to control the words coming out of his mouth. "I'm sorry!"

Anger had seeped from Bunny's face in the presence of Jack's upset. "Hey now, calm down."

"I _swear_ I didn't mean to," Jack repeated, near hysterical. "It was an _accident_, please, please just don't stop—" Jack slapped a hand over his mouth to stop the words. When he looked there was horror in Bunny's eyes.

"Don't stop what?" Bunny said quietly. "Don't stop _believing_ in you?" Jack winced, and Bunny's face crumpled in hurt. "You really think I'd do that? That I'd toss you aside like that?" There was self-righteous anger as well now, and Jack looked to the ground at his bare feet.

A wounded silence hung between them, and the only thing that broke it was the occasional wooden creak from the damaged tree.

Jack's hands balled into fists. One of his feet slid back, and unconscious prompt to flee. He bit his lip.

Who could blame him for thinking the way he did? Fore three hundred years 'Jack Frost' hadn't been _real_; no one had ever _wanted_ him to be real. How was he to know if they wouldn't change their minds and decide they didn't want him to be real again after all?

_Upon what previous relationships was he meant to base his trust in them?_

All this time, all he'd had was his hope, and even that could only go so far. The Guardians weren't like Baby Tooth or Phil, they hadn't sought him out like those two had, whether from guilt or—

…wait.

No. No, Bunny _had_ sought him out. Not even two hours ago, when Jack had fruitlessly been traipsing across Australia.

How _had_ Bunny found him?

Jack glanced up, and Bunny wasn't looking at him but off to the side. An expression of deep thought mixed with lingering hurt painted his face in deep lines.

"Bunny," Jack whispered. Bunny's ears twitched, and he turned with dark eyes. "How did you find me?"

For a moment Bunny seemed uncomfortable, but he rolled his shoulders and sighed. "I felt your hope."

"My," Jack murmured, "hope?"

Bunny nodded. "I've been keeping a sharp eye on it since Easter."

"You have?" Jack's voice came back to normal with his confusion. "Why?"

"Because I'm the one who made you lose it the first time!" Bunny burst out. He stared at Jack, and he seemed so ashamed that Jack's hand lifted slightly, as though preparing to reach out. "I'm the Guardian of Hope, mate. When it _dies_…" Bunny clutched a hand to his chest. "I _feel_ it. And when yours died that day I felt it, and I'm the one that killed it. It may not have all been me," Bunny continued when it appeared Jack would interrupt, "but I did strike the final blow."

Jack closed his mouth and pursed his lips.

Bunny breathed slowly. "Look, Jack, I'm sorry—"

"_Not you too!_" Jack cried, fed up and angry.

Bunny reared his head back. "Wha—?"

Jack pointed harshly with his staff. "I am _sick_ of apologies! First Tooth, then North, now _you_ too? Why don't we just get Sandy in here and we can finish it off!"

Jack, I don't understand—"

"I don't want your apologies! No matter how-how angry I still am a little, or how hard it was or how _guilty_ you all feel." Jack slammed his staff down, ice spreading around his feet, and he could feel his throat closing, the words choking as he became more and more emotional. "I don't want you to stop believing, and I'm _scared_ you will," he admitted. "I don't want to come on too strong and make you all _hate _me and decide you don't want me anymore. But at the same time I don't want you to stick around just because you feel guilty. And when you apologize…" Jack clenched a hand in his hair, shaking his head as his body and voice began to tremble. "That's what it feels like you're doing."

There was a stunned silence, and then Jack heard Bunny's approaching footsteps. He continued looking down until he was suddenly wrapped in warm furred arms, his face pressed to the soft ruff of Bunny's chest.

"I'm sorry," Bunny said."

"Don't—"

"No, Frostbite." Bunny tightened his hold when Jack tried to squirm away. "I'm gonna say it. We're _all_ gonna say it." Bunny pressed his face to Jack's hair. "We've done a right bad job of making you feel welcome. Now we feel guilty, probably gonna for a while. And you've made clear you're upset." Jack pressed his face deeper into Bunny's chest. Bunny chuckled. "Now while that's true, it's not the make or break of it.

"We're not gonna stop believin' that easy, and it's not just guilt. We want to know you, Jack." Bunny pulled away, hands on Jack's shoulders as he stared down into Jack's wide eyes. "_I_ want to know you. Things like that," Bunny tilted his nodded his head towards the tree, "can be taken care of. Replaced, reused, or made into something else. It doesn't change how I feel. I'm not gonna toss you aside or stop believing in you." He smiled. "Have a bit more faith, Jack."

Jack _knew_ there was a frosty blush on his cheeks and that his lips were parted in surprise. Bunny's words sank into him and wrapped themselves around the near constant hope he'd made a part of himself, and it flared bright. Hadn't there been a time long ago when he'd lost faith in Baby Tooth? And he'd been wrong then. There'd also been a time when he couldn't even imagine what another person's _hands_ felt like, and here was with the warm weight of Bunny's comfortable on his shoulders. Half a year ago he would have believed that so unlikely it would be borderline impossible.

But now…

Maybe Bunny was right. Maybe he should give them a little faith, too.

Jack's hope seemed to pulse within him. Jack tilted his head. A small, genuine smile pushed up his lips, and warmed partially lidded eyes with gratitude.

"Okay," he breathed.

* * *

E. Aster Bunnymund stared down into the bright face of Jack Frost and tasted hope thick and sweet on his tongue. Deep within him, his heart perked to attention and began to murmur heavy words quietly away into his soul.

Ah.

* * *

Two days later, Jack dreamed.

* * *

**Memory:**

Jackson's father had always been skeptical about the things Jack believed in. He didn't _say _so, but Jack knew he was all the same. That was why he'd only mentioned his gradually becoming frequent conversations with Pitch to his mother. She was the more carefree of the two, understanding and accepting where his father was closed off and quiet. It was from her that Jack had inherited his mischief. And while it was his father that taught him to carve, it was his mother that taught him to knit.

He hadn't been good at it at first.

"You wrap it," his mother instructed, "then pull the yarn through with the second needle, and slide it off of the first." She did just that with hers.

Jack struggled to complete the row, then held up the needle with the stiches. He scanned it, frowning as he counted. "Wait, I started with ten—how are there twelve now?"

His mother laughed, and continued with her own knitting. "Take a break, Jackson. It will never come out right if you force it."

Jack watched her silently for a few minutes, and then remembered a recent conversation he'd had with Pitch, when he'd mentioned the arranged marriage of the barman's daughter and the blacksmith's son. Pitch had said that a lot of marriages were arranged. But Jack knew his parents' _hadn't_ been.

"Mom?" She hummed acknowledgment. "Why did you marry Dad?"

She shot him an odd look. "You know I chose him."

"I do," Jack acknowledged, "but Dad says there were others. So why him? Why did you pick Dad?"

"What a question to ask," she whispered. Her hands continued to move, knitting without her thinking about it as her eyes and heart carried her somewhere far away that Jack could not see. "He drove me _crazy_, your father. He was so serious, and hardly playful.

"But then one winter," she smiled, and her cheeks flushed light pink, "I'd just gotten so _annoyed_ with him, so I threw a snowball in his face. I walked away, but imagine how surprised I was when a moment later a snowball hit the back of my head!"

Jack leaned on the table between them, head in hand as he listed raptly. "What happened?" he whispered.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again Jack knew she had returned from that long ago place. She sighed happily. "I turned around and there he was. Smiling at me. And suddenly, Jack, I knew."

She set down her knitting and stood up. She came around the table and stopped at his side. Jack faced her, head turned up. She cupped his face, and brushed his hair behind his ear. She looked him over with a gentle expression and soft eyes.

"You're so handsome, Jackson," she said. "Just like your father. You have his face and his hair."

Jack took her in. Freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Cupid's bow lips and a sweetly rounded face. Reddish-brown hair in careful waves across her shoulders. And finally, big, warm brown eyes.

"But I have your eyes," he said.

She smiled. "You do." She placed a kiss to his forehead, and hugged him tight. Held to her, with the familiar smell of hard soaps and skin, he felt five years old again. Perhaps that's why the words were out before he knew what they were. "I love you, Mammy."

Jack blushed. He hadn't called her that in years He could feel her smile in his hair. "And I, you, my boy."

She pulled away and kneeled by his chair. Her brown dress pooled around her. She handed Jack his needles from where he'd set them aside. He took them, holding them with the yarn weaved between the fingers of his right hand.

She placed her hands over his, and began guiding his movements. "Push through, wrap the yarn, pull through, and slide off…"

* * *

**Present:**

In his Den, Jack's eyes blinked open slowly. For a few moments he did not move, and then he crawled from his nest of blankets and searched until he found his knitting needles and ball of mismatched yarns tucked away next to his loom.

He stared at them. Then he folded his legs, and cast on ten stitches. Needles in hand, yarn woven through the fingers of his right hand, Jack began the familiar motions. As he did so, he began to speak.

"Push through," he murmured, "wrap the yarn, pull through, and slide off…"


	5. Wasn't too much fun at all

**Sorry for the delay! Had some projects and papers and family things to do, but it's all taken care of now. Back to my regular schedule. I'll post a one-shot or something this weekend as an apology gift for the wait! ****Songs this chapter was written to: _No One Mourns the Wicked_ from the Broadway Musical Wicked; _On and On_ by Vixx; _Misty Mountains (Cold)_ by Thorin fucking Oakenshield; and _Turn Your Face_ by Little Mix.**

* * *

No one becomes depraved all at once.

-Juvenal, _Satires, _c. A.D. 100

* * *

**Present:**

"So I trust Bunny, you know, but…" Jack spun his staff in his hands. "I just—I _know_ he's keeping something form me about my memories. You all are, because he asked you to. I trust his judgment, and if he thinks it's something I should discover for myself I'll _listen_, but _still_…" Jack leaned back on his palms, looking up at the stars. "Am I thinking about it too much?"

A tiny hand on his arm made Jack look down, and he smiled at the other's expression. "Yeah, you're right. I'm sure there's a reason. I should," his tongue stumbled, "trust him more." Jack sighed. "Thanks, Sandy."

Sandy nodded, and pat his arm reassuringly.

Jack shifted on the cloud, and watched the quiet night settle on a small town in Virginia. "You do this every night?" Jack wasn't sure why he whispered, but it felt appropriate for some reason.

Sandy glanced at him smugly. The little man cracked his knuckles in an exaggerated motion.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're hot stuff alright."

Sandy shook in a silent laugh. He quickly directed a few dreams. They shined bright gold against the purple night. Sandy glanced at the wistful expression on Jack made, and offered a strand of dream sand. It coiled in the air like a live thing, twisting and knotting itself and untying its mess.

Jack blinked, and looked uncertain. "Are you sure?"

Sandy nodded. Jack hesitated, but then reached out and brushed his fingers in the sand. He expected a dolphin, just like the one from decades ago. What he got was a rabbit.

Jack's eyes shot wide, frost streaking his face. _Well_. He peeked at Sandy, and winced.

Sandy stared at the dream sand bunny with his mouth open in a small 'oh.' Sandy shot Jack a meaningful look.

"It's not what you think," Jack said. Sandy appeared less than convinced. "Look, Sandy, I _admire_ Bunny. He's a great guy. He's good with kids and he really _cares_ about his work. It's not surprising I'd look up to him—_wipe that look off your face!_"

Sandy immediately appeared innocent, hiding the naughty look he'd been sporting with big doe eyes.

Jack groaned. "I swear, between you and Phil…"

Another silent laugh from Sandy.

Jack clucked his tongue and flew up from his seat, hovering before Sandy. "Speaking of which, Phil's supposed to be coming with treats, so I'm going to head home." He waved as the wind began carrying him away. "See you around soon, Sandy. It was nice seeing you again."

Sandy watched him go fondly, but quickly resumed his work. It was nice to see the spirit on occasion, and if these moments were small steps in helping Jack get used to people, then that would be good, too.

* * *

Jack rode the wind back toward Burgess, thoughtful. He'd missed Sandy, but the star was always so busy. Which was why Jack had taken to visiting him. This behavior extended to the other Guardians as well, and they all saw him at least once a week now-a-days. (Maybe twice, if you were a certain tall Pooka—)

Jack coughed, and dove in the air as he approached Burgess.

Landing by the rock covering the Den's entrance, he pushed it aside and hopped down. He lit candles and tidied up absentmindedly. As autumn had settled in firmly, a few more leaves than usual had managed to slip their way in.

He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the stolen yarns in a pile by his blankets, but reassured himself that they'd been donations and heavily marked down in price anyways. Besides, he needed them if he was going to make his presents.

A portal opened, and Jack watched Phil step through. "Hey Phil."

Phil grunted his greeting, and set a white cardboard box and snow globe on Jack's table. Jack put his hands behind his back, leaning forward to peek at it curiously. "What's that?"

Phil pat Jack's head, then sat down. The chair creaked ominously, but stayed together. Jack sat across from him as Phil opened the box, and the smell of fresh sugar cookies wafted out.

"Ooo," Jack sang. "Those smell good."

Phil handed one to Jack, and he accepted eagerly. Jack nearly took a bite, until he noticed that the cookie was shaped like a heart. Jack blinked and glanced up at Phil, who ate away happily at a cookie himself. A slow smirk crept up Jack's face. He took a bite.

"These are good," he said casually. "You'll have to tell Debbie I said so."

Phil sputtered as Jack laughed. Suddenly, Jack looked at Phil seriously. "Hey, you're not using vacation days for this right? You're just clocked out for the day?"

Phil gave him a look, but nodded.

"Jack sighed his relief. "Good."

Phil made an exasperated noise. He stood up and came to Jack's side. Phil wrapped his arms around Jack's much smaller frame and pulled him into a soft hug.

_It wouldn't have mattered if he had been._ _He'd have come anyway._

Those were the words Phil seemed to convey. And Jack, warm and comfortable with the taste of affectionate sugar on his tongue, was willing to take them to heart.

* * *

Phil was careful as he tucked in the sleeping Jack Frost. The boy's blankets were a mess of colors and sizes. He kept the thickest ones toward the floor as a sort of mattress, about a foot thick. The one Jack was currently wrapped up in, the one Phil was tucking around jack's shoulders and waist, was white with bright green lily pads stitched all over.

Where had this boy gotten these things?

Phil leaned down when he finished, and pressed his forehead to Jack's. Phil knew he might be being presumptuous doing so, but this was only a light scent mark. Enough to alert other spirits with enhanced senses that Jack was being looked out for, if nothing else. It was something Phil's own father had done to him, and something that had been done to friends and family of the yeti since Phil could remember.

It may have only been meant as a friendly mark for now, but with time, Phil hoped, perhaps Jack would not object to changing that meaning. 'Family' had such a nice ring to it that Phil had not heard in a very long time.

Phil left Jack's side, and as he worked his way over to the snow globe he'd set down earlier he bumped his shin on a wooden chest. Phil grumbled and rubbed it, glaring at the chest. As the pain subsided, he grew curious.

Phil had seen this chest every time he visited, but he'd never seen Jack open it or what was inside. He wanted to know despite himself. Slowly, knowing every moment as he did so that he really shouldn't, Phil opened the chest.

Letters. _Hundreds_ of letters. Each folded carefully and dated by year. Phil reached in, grabbed one—1832—and opened it. He read quietly. Then he read another. And another. And another.

A moment later Phil had opened a portal to the workshop and marched through, chest in tow.

* * *

North jumped in surprise when a yet—Phil, Jack's friend Phil—threw his door open.

"Phil?" North placed his palms on his desk. "What is meaning of this?"

Phil dropped a chest on North's desk, _very_ close to North's hands, causing the Guardian to jerk back. Phil opened the chest, reached in, and withdrew a pile of—letters?—which he dropped on North's lap.

North picked one up. "What are these?"

Phil growled a few words, and exited.

North watched the unusually high-strung yeti exit. 'Fix it,' he said. What was North supposed to be fixing?

North picked up a letter—marked 1872—and began to read.

* * *

_(1872)_

_Dear Santa,_

_I know I ask for this every year, but can I have a believer for Christmas? Sorry for being so blunt, I just don't see the point of writing a lot in these anymore._

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Frost_

* * *

Jack Frost.

North boggled. Were these _Christmas letters?_ To _him?_ But there had to be at least two hundred of them! North frantically opened another, reading quickly.

* * *

_(1832)_

_Dear Santa,_

_I considered trying to stop by the workshop and deliver this one to you, but changed my mind. It would hurt to have you walk through me again. _

_But can you make someone see me this year? I'd really like that._

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Frost_

* * *

He'd walked through him.

North closed his eyes.

He'd walked through Jack Frost and never even known.

Shakily, he picked up another.

* * *

_(1893)_

_Dear Santa,_

_Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

_She saw me. __**She actually saw me.**_

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Frost_

* * *

He picked up another.

* * *

_(1959)_

_Dear Santa,_

_I know it's selfish, but if I could see Baby Tooth for Christmas, that would be great. I really miss her._

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Frost_

* * *

Another.

* * *

_(1965)_

_Dear Santa,_

_Did she forget me? Please don't let her. I don't want to be alone again._

_I don't want to lose her._

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Frost_

* * *

North paused. That one had sounded _off_ to him. He stood, and began searching for other letters from the 1960s in the chest.

* * *

_(1963)_

_Dear Santa,_

_She'll be coming back soon, right?_

_Sincerely, _

_Jack Frost_

* * *

_(1966)_

_Dear Santa,_

_I don't' want to be alone._

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Frost_

* * *

North came across one that was different. Where all the others were neatly folded, one letter was crumpled, as though it had been clutched tightly before being put away. He read the date. 1967.

The date was significant for some reason. North contemplated it for a moment. Hadn't that been the Christmas before Easter 1968, when Bunny had raved about a blizzard for weeks on end?

North opened it, and found a singled word written in shaky hand.

* * *

_(1967)_

_please_

* * *

That was it. An ominous feeling settled in his gut. He searched for another.

* * *

_(1968)_

_Dear Santa,_

_I won't ask for anything. I have Baby Tooth back, and that's enough._

_It has to be enough._

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Frost_

* * *

North sat down heavily, and stared at the letters piled up before him.

'Fix it,' Phil had said.

Problem was, North wasn't sure how.

He placed the letters carefully away as he began to think. Jack had spent years wishing for a Christmas he never received. North usually held a big party on Christmas after his rounds, but perhaps this year...

Christmas was about family and wonder. While it wouldn't be a huge party, perhaps a small family gathering was exactly what they needed. And while it wouldn't be much, it would at least be a start.

North fished out four cards from his desk drawer, and began working on the invitations.

* * *

**Memory:**

"Pitch, what's your favorite season?"

Jack leaned his back against a tree, legs crossed in front of him. He and Pitch had gotten closer, for certain. Jack found him to be an odd companion, but not a bad one by any means.

"Winter." Pitch sat beside him watching the leaves fall.

"Really? Mine too! I love snow, and skating, and icicles. Why do you like it?"

Pitch looked bored when he answered. "Because people fear it."

Jack was quiet. "That's a little…"

Pitch smirked. "I am the _Bogeyman_, Jackson."

"I know that. It's just, kind of sad, is all."

Pitch rolled his bright silver eyes. "Hardly. I enjoy fear. And winter brings it. Whether it's a fear of starvation or desperate predators. Or even the fear that Daddy's going to wander into the forest for firewood and never come back.

"People fear the cold, Jackson, because they're afraid that one day they're going to become trapped in it, frozen forever."

Jack tore a leaf apart in his fingers with a small frown. "You're right…but you're wrong, too."

Pitch chuckled while shaking his head, and said in a tone that suggested placation, "Of course."

Jack let the last bits of leaf fall to the ground, and looked up at the branches. "Pitch?"

"Yes?"

"What's…," he hesitated, feeling his face warm. "What's love like?"

Pitch turned a scrutinizing look at him, eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I'm just curious! I mean you're older than me, right? And we're friends so I thought it'd be okay to ask…"

Pitch stared at him. "Do you have a crush, Jackson?" He sounded vaguely annoyed.

Jack turned his face away. "No! Look," he scrambled, "let's just forget it. It's not important."

Pitch hummed assent. A quiet settled, but Jack, blush fading, felt his natural curiosity take over. "Pitch?"

Pitch's voice came out half amused, half knowing. "_Yes, _Jackson?"

"What's your real name?" Jack watched him.

"My name _is_ Pitch," he answered, deadpan.

"No way." Jack bumped him with his shoulder. "Your parents had to have named you something else."

Pitch stared off into the forest. "I don't remember them well."

Silence. But unlike others they'd had, this one was oppressive, and cold. Jack, feeling he'd strayed into territory best left untread, hastily prepared to apologize.

"Kozmotis."

Jack blinked, startled. "Kozmotis?"

"My name."

Jack pursed his lips, then began laughing harder than he'd laughed in weeks. "_Kozmotis?_"

"Jackson," Pitch said warningly, glaring at him.

Jack hunched over in wild giggles. "That's worse than 'Pitch!'"

Pitch rolled his eyes. "Hush, Jackson."

But at the corner of his mouth he was grinning. Just a bit.

* * *

**Present:**

As he woke, Jack stared into the darkness. "What happened to you?" he asked no one aloud. How had Pitch become so…?

Jack got out of bed and stretched. He'd think later. For now, he had to worry about ushering in winter. He nearly left the Den without noticing the invitation.

For a while Jack just stared at it, wide eyed and slack-jawed. Then a smile shone through as he began to laugh, warmth spreading through his limbs from his chest.

Because for the first time ever, Jack had something sticking out of his stocking. It was just a piece of light cardboard with a candy cane attached, but it was more than enough to make him happy.


	6. We're choosing the path

**Songs this chapter was written to: _Perfect_ by Marianas Trench; _Miss Jackson_ and _Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off_ by Panic! At the Disco; _The Fortunate_ by Cartel; and _Hyde_ by Vixx.**

* * *

There are some extraordinary fathers who seem, during the whole course of their lives, to be giving their children reasons for being consoled at their death.

-La Bruyere, _Les Caracteres, _1688

* * *

**Present:**

North walked down the hall with a kick in his step. He wore the usual outfit of suspenders and white shirt, but just for today there was a sprig of holly pinned to his chest. He'd just gotten back from his deliveries, and was more than ready to start off Christmas morning.

Christmas Eve had been wonderful, with the other Guardians and Jack arriving to have a huge dinner together before North had had to leave. They'd all been laughing and having a great time. It had been strangely more fulfilling than his usual Christmas party, and North would be hard pressed to recall a time recently that all four Guardians had gathered together for something that wasn't an emergency. They'd felt closer during that one night than they'd felt in centuries. And it had all been thanks to Jack Frost's appearance in their lives that it had happened.

Now, North was more than ready to continue the cheer and wonder with the opening of some Christmas presents. A few yeti had already woken the others, and they'd been taken to the Christmas tree in the main sitting room. North had wanted to get Jack on his own. It seemed only fitting that Jack wake with Santa in the room during his first real Christmas.

North was careful to quiet the thunk of his boots in his footsteps as he slipped into Jack's room. He smiled at the boy's sleeping face, the faint folds in the blankets around his body hinting the other had been tucked in at some point during the night. North would have reached out to wake Jack then had he not noticed the letter on the nightstand.

Curious, North picked it up. It was folded in a familiar way and dated by the year. 2012.

North flicked his eyes between the letter and Jack, heart clenched in sad affection. Jack had written another letter to him. North had had the chest of them put back, but only after reading each and every one. So far, Jack hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss. But still, North hadn't expected that Jack would write another. Or that it would be left there openly, if not very conspicuously. North opened it, and began to read.

* * *

_(2012)_

_Dear Santa,_

_I'm not sure why I'm writing this. It feels weird to call you Santa too, since I've gotten so used to calling you North. Since I've gotten so used to you, in general. _

_This year has given me so much._

* * *

Here Jack's handwriting became shaky, and North could almost hear Jack's nervous voice in his mind.

* * *

_Is it okay to ask for more? Is it really okay? I'm afraid that if I do something will decide I'm being too selfish and will take everything away._

_I can't do that. I can't go back to that. I won't survive it. _

_But I can't help still wanting more. So is it okay? Just this once, can I be selfish?_

_I want a family for Christmas._

_I suddenly feel embarrassed._

* * *

North snorted. Really, this boy!

* * *

_But, yeah. That's what I want. Is it okay?_

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Frost_

* * *

North almost stopped reading, until he spotted the tiny words written at the bottom last minute.

* * *

_I want him to look at me more._

* * *

Well.

North folded the letter and carefully pocketed it. His lips pursed with emotion, a slow nod taking over as he looked down at Jack.

This boy.

North took a deep breath and smiled softly. He placed a hand atop Jack's head.

"It's okay, Jack," North said. "You can be selfish. Now, I've got a family to get you to. They've been waiting long enough."

It felt like he was giving himself a gift as well.

* * *

Jack woke to a big hand stroking fingers through his hair. The sensation felt familiar, somehow.

"Jack," said a voice. "Jack, it's time to get up."

Jack fluttered his eyes, coming slowly to wakefulness. As he became aware of his surroundings, his drowsy eyes focused on the person by his bed. "North?"

"Good morning, Jack." North continued stroking Jack's hair as he finished waking. "The others are in the main sitting room. You remember where that is?"

"The room with the big Christmas tree?" Jack muttered. "The one we had eggnog in last night?"

"That's the one." North pulled away as Jack sat up. "I'll let you get dressed. We'll be waiting."

Jack yawned, nodding as North left. "Okay."

The door clicked shut, and Jack rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. The previous night had been wonderful. It was the first time he'd been in the presence of all the Guardians since last Easter. The evening had started with a huge meal of ham and turkey and all the things Jack had only ever seen and never tried. Pies and pudding and custards and _food._

So much _food._

It had been…awkward, to explain that he couldn't eat much when he'd been the first to get full. He couldn't help it! He wasn't used to eating—he'd gone so long without that he couldn't eat huge quantities anymore. A medium sized plate-full at most, with a small bowl for sides if he pushed himself.

Afterwards they'd retired to the main sitting room with the big Christmas tree for eggnog and stories. Jack wasn't sure he liked eggnog very much, but Sandy had guzzled it down like it was the last thing he'd ever drink.

North had left soon after to deliver presents, with a promise to be back Christmas morning. Jack had gone to bed with his stomach in excited little knots. He'd been in such a good mood he'd even had the courage to—

Jack froze mid-stretch, and whirled his head around to gaze at the nightstand. The letter was gone. The letter he'd written, half-hoping it would be found, and half-hoping it wouldn't. He'd found the nerve to write things he'd been worrying about for weeks. As much as he'd gained, was it alright to still want more?

_Just this once, can I be selfish?_

Jack blushed frost as he climbed out of bed. Of course, there'd also been the line his heart had forced his hand to tack on to the end.

_I want him to look at me more._

Jack wondered what North would make of it.

Jack slipped on the clothes North had provided him within the chest of drawers. His usual clothes were being cleaned and mended, he was told. It wasn't such a big deal, but the reassurance was nice.

The clothes were thick brown pants and a deep blue sweater. The sweater was slightly too long in the arms, so that the sleeves ended just under the middle of his palms. If he pulled, he could cover his hands with the material.

Jack dropped to his knees and reached under the bed. He pulled out a stack of small gifts wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. His smile was wide and he bounced with each step as he carried them from the room. This would not only be his first Christmas, but also the first time he'd ever given gifts before.

Jack found his way back to the main sitting room. He took a moment to peek in through the wide open doors before going in. The room was large, but the centerpiece was the Christmas tree in the middle. Couches and chairs were in clusters all over the room, but North had moved two couches and two armchairs around the tree. North sat in one of the chairs, Tooth in the other. Bunny sat on one couch. Sandy flew around the tree, covering it with golden tinsel made of sand.

Jack hid partially behind the doorframe, suddenly nervous. He shifted the presents in his arms.

He yelped as he was suddenly picked up under the arms. "Phil!"

Phil grumbled a little and carried him into the room. The Guardians turned at the commotion they made. Phil dropped Jack onto the couch beside Bunny.

Bunny chuckled at the disgruntled look Jack shot Phil as the yeti sat on the other couch. "Nice to see you made it, mate."

Jack made an unamused sound and situated himself comfortably. He set the presents on the floor by his feet.

"Are those prezzies?" Bunny craned his head to peer at them.

Jack nodded. "Yes. That's okay, right?"

"We don't usually get each other anything, but certainly. 'Sides, I think we all got you somethin' too."

Jack's lips parted. "Really?"

"Yes!" North yelled, and dropped a heavy medium-sized box wrapped in blue paper with a big silver bow taped on top on Jack's lap. Jack stared at the box.

"Is this for me?" he asked quietly.

"It is." North's big hand was warm on Jack's shoulder. Jack looked up at him in awe. "Open it."

Jack's lip trembled, and he bit it to hide the movement. With careful hands, he opened the packaging. He didn't take the time to unfold each corner, but he didn't just rip the paper away all at once either. He opened the white box underneath, and pulled out books. _A Treasury of Sherlock Holmes, Wild Magic, _and one leather bound journal with blank pages. Jack flipped open the _Treasury_'s cover, and his grip became tight on the book when he read what was inside.

_To: Jack Frost_

_From: Santa_

"Thank you." Jack told himself it was only his imagination when his voice sounded shaky.

North pat his shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Jack."

* * *

The next gifts were opened with the same air of gratefulness and joy. From Sandy Jack received a music box. It played a soft piano score when he wound it up and opened it, a small own on a spring spinning in front of a tiny mirror stuck to the bottom of the lid. In the box itself was a small bag of dream sand.

From Tooth jack received a cloak. A simple brown cloak.

"Did Baby Tooth tell you?" he asked, running his hands over the material.

"She mentioned you used to have one," Tooth affirmed, "but that it was apparently _destroyed._" The last bit was said with amusement.

"_Destroyed?_" Bunny leaned back with a smirk. "Oh, that sounds like a good story. I've got to hear this one."

Jack tensed. "It's…it's not…"

Bunny's ears twitched. "Jack?"

Old, familiar shame clawed his chest. Jack brought the cloak to his face, hiding in the soft folds. "It's not a good story."

Warm hands drew the cloak away, and Jack was looking into Bunny's concerned expression. "Jack," Bunny said slowly, "what's wrong?"

"I," Jack stopped. Should he tell them? What he'd done had been bad. He wasn't like that _anymore_, but…what would they think? Would it disgust them that he'd been so broken once?

_"Have a bit more faith, Jack."_

Jack took a deep breath. "I did something bad."

The room had become quiet, its occupants sensing the serious atmosphere. Bunny watched him with a calm understanding. "What did you do?"

"I," Jack looked down at his lap, ashamed and embarrassed and strangely angry, "tried to…kill myself."

Jack _felt_ the weight of his words on the others, could feel the stiffness in Bunny at his side. Jack didn't dare to look up as he rushed an explanation. "It was only the once, and I haven't done it since! It was just—I'd been alone for so _long_ and I was afraid she'd forgotten me—"

"Jack," North interrupted, his voice sounding like he was remembering something, "when did you do this?"

"Nineteen sixty-eight," he answered. He began to ramble when this only seemed to add to the heaviness in the room. "But I haven't since, and I didn't _know_ it was Easter or that it would hurt so much or that my storm would hurt someone—"

"Jack."

Jack's words were stopped when he was drawn into Bunny's arms. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Bunny tilted Jack's head up until Jack was looking in his eyes. "I'm…yes. I'm alright now."

"Then that's all that matters." Bunny pulled Jack's face to his shoulder. "So long as you're alright, and you don't do it again."

"I won't," Jack said with conviction. He wouldn't. The him then had been desperate and tired. Jack didn't feel that way anymore.

"Good."

Jack didn't get a chance to respond, because he'd been snatched up by Phil. Jack was fairly surrounded by fur, and Phil didn't say a word. Just held him. Phil squeezed a bit, and Jack managed to get his arms around the yeti's sides. "Thank you, Phil."

He didn't say anything, but Jack had a feeling his silence was more 'your welcome' than words would have been.

* * *

Apparently Phil's hug had started up a trend, because they didn't manage to get back on track again until all of the other Guardians had gotten a turn. Sandy's and North's had been nice, but Tooth's had reminded him of his mother's in some ways. It had been hard to let go.

And then Bunny had gave Jack his present. No wrapping, no ribbon, no tresses. He crouched in front of Jack and lifted his foot, slipping on a wooden anklet painted with blue flowers and green vines.

"For emergencies," Bunny explained. "Touch it to the ground and call for me, and I will come." Bunny tapped the anklet with a finger, hands still wrapped around Jack's foot. "There's magic in it, so it'll always work."

To say Jack was touched would be an understatement. And Bunny's hands weren't helping. _(Since __**when**__ were his feet sensitive?)_ In the end he'd had enough grace to nod and stutter his thanks.

Bunny's response was a smile that nearly curled his toes. (Which would have been awkward, because Bunny was still holding his foot.)

After that it had been Jack's turn. North received a pair of red gloves with white trim. Jack had given Sandy a blanket with yellow and white ripples. Tooth got an entrelac style scarf in green and pink. All handmade by Jack.

Bunny's gift had taken more explanation.

"Socks?" Bunny looked quizzically at the gray items, the first of three pairs.

"You're always saying you hate running in the snow because you can't feel your feet," Jack explained nervously. He tugged the ends of his sleeves. "But I know you hate shoes as much as I do, and there aren't really socks made to fit Pooka right, so…I made you some." Jack squirmed at the intense look Bunny was giving him. "You don't like them?"

Bunny slowly shook his head. "That's not it." Bunny held them close. "I love them."

Jack grinned in relief. "That's good."

* * *

Jack Frost was going to kill him.

Or at the least kill his self-control.

Bunny had to restrain himself from jumping the boy. Jack needed to stop smiling, because it was doing wonders at tearing away his self-control in big, heavy chunks. He just wanted to grab the boy up and—

_Focus._

Socks. Who thinks to give the Pooka socks? Jack Frost, apparently.

They'd be useful. He could wear them for snow running to fend off the cold and take them off after, or just put them on whenever he felt a bit nippy. From the looks of it they'd fit his feet just right. (Jack had been correct about that; it was hard to find anything Pooka-friendly when it came to feet.)

Bunny set the socks aside as he watched Jack interact with his fellow Guardians. He'd have been happy to watch for a while, but a hand on his shoulder gave him pause. He looked up at Phil, who watched him with an assessing gaze.

"Can I help you?"

Phil nodded, then gestured at the door.

Bunny felt the importance Phil put into the motion. He stood. "I'll be right back," he explained when the others turned. "Just need to step out for a bit. Stretch my legs."

Jack watched suspiciously, his gaze trained on Phil's hand on Bunny's shoulder, but didn't protest. He shot Phil a warning look as he and Bunny left.

Phil led bunny to North's office, closing the door behind them. On North's desk was a large chunk of ice, not unusual, but beside it…

"Baby Tooth?" Bunny recognized Jack's favorite fairy. "What're you doing here? Jack's in the sitting room if you're looking."

Baby Tooth nodded, but appeared solemn. She watched him unnervingly. Phil came around to stand by the desk, and they both stared.

Bunny was suddenly very uncomfortable. "Is there a problem?" They both shook their head. "Is this..," he looked for a common denominator between the two, "is this about Jack?" They nodded.

Understanding came over him. "Wait," Bunny frowned, "is this a _shovel talk_?"

Neither spoke, but the seriousness was enough confirmation.

"Alright." Bunny scrubbed a hand over his face. "Say what you've gotta."

Surprisingly, it was Baby Tooth who came forward first. She hovered in front of his face, and the moment he opened his mouth to ask what she wanted she darted in and touched one of his teeth.

_The sky was black with smoke. The breeze carried a smell of blood with it. There were no screams, but only because there was no one left to make them._

He stumbled back. Tears poured thick from his eyes and wet his fur. He choked on a sob, and glared at the fairy that didn't look the slightest bit apologetic.

"Tooth would be right upset if she knew you'd done that," he said.

Baby Tooth shrugged. In that single movement she showed the extent of her caring for Jack; that she'd risk her mother's ire to get her point across. If he hurt Jack, she'd hurt him back in the only way she could.

No one said teeth could only call on good memories.

Bunny composed himself, and turned his attention to Phil. "And you?"

Phil pulled a handsaw from under North's desk and began slowly carving the ice into small, jagged chunks.

"Well," Bunny chuckled, "at least yours is straight forward." He sobered quickly. "You don't have to worry. I get your point." He looked between the two, making sure to meet their eyes. "And I'm serious. I can't say I won't hurt him in the future, but I'm gonna do my best to make sure those times are few and far between. I want him," Bunny declared, "at my side, just as I'll be at his."

Baby Tooth finally cracked a sweet smile of approval, and she cooed softly. Phil set down the saw, and nodded.

Bunny sagged in relief. Well, that was one thing taken care of. Now he just had to get Jack to stand at his side, and then figure out how to get him to _stay_ there.

* * *

**Dream:**

Jackson Overland's father possessed the same hair and face as Jack, and was forever doomed to appear ten years younger than he actually was. If not for the facial hair, Jack and his father could have nearly been mistaken for brothers. He and Jack had trouble seeing eye-to-eye at times, but no one could deny that Samuel Overland cared for his son.

On the morning of his seventeenth birthday in mid-January, Jackson woke to a hand stroking fingers through his hair.

"Jack," said a voice. "Jack, it's time to get up."

Jack fluttered his eyes, coming slowly to wakefulness. As he became aware of his surroundings, his drowsy eyes focused on the person by his bed. "Dad?"

Samuel held a finger to his lips. "It's time to get up, Jack."

Under his father's instruction Jack climbed from the bed and dressed. Jack followed his father from the cabin into the woods. The dawn light shone on the snow. They eventually stopped at an old tree stump. Samuel sat on it and looked Jack over with eyes that were cool green.

"I know we don't' always get along," he began.

"Dad—" Jack started.

Samuel held up a hand, silencing. "But you do good. You're almost as good at carving as I am, and you _always_ take care of your sister."

Jack stayed silent, unsure if he was meant to say something.

"But you can be reckless, too. I've seen you go on your hikes, coming home barefoot and bleeding because you lost your footing on a hill or some other disaster." He reached behind the stump, and pulled out a long, crooked staff. He handed it to Jack. "So I want you to take this."

Jack held it, testing the weight in his hands. "It's smooth," he noticed.

"I want you to carve the rest," Samuel explained. "Make it your own."

Jack gripped the staff tight, and smiled. "Thank you, Dad."

Samuel gave a rare, gentle smile. "I'm proud you, Jack."

Even though it was cold outside, all Jack could feel was warm.

* * *

**Present:**

Jack Frost woke to the same kind of mid-January cold in his Den that he'd felt in his dream.

He crawled out of bed, heading straight for the knob where he'd hung his staff. He took it off the knob and cradles it in his palms.

How many times had he fallen asleep with his staff? Held it close—his only worldly possession that mattered? His single, hopeful constant?

He ran his hand over the swirls and notches—marks he now knew he must have put there. It had served him well. It had aided and protected him, and he was grateful. He had a feeling his father would have been glad to know it had served its purpose.

Running a hand over this small piece of his father that had always been with him, Jack spoke the words he wished they both hadn't been too stubborn to say. "I love you, Dad."

* * *

**So this chapter was definitely more character based, with some important plot things hidden inside for you to dissect. Have fun with that.  
**

**Can I just say how cute it is that you guys are so worried about Pitch? Hell, some of you are worried FOR Pitch, and all of it just makes writing this story more fun.**


	7. But I'll be there for you

**This chapter IS shorter, but some important stuff happens.**  
**Songs this chapter was written to: _Fairytale_ by Sara Bareilles; _Confrontation_ from Jekyll and Hyde; _Carry On My Wayward Son_ by Kansas; and _Breath Of Life_ by Florence and the Machine.**

* * *

Jealousy is always born with love, but does not always die with it.

-La Rochefoucauld, _Maxius, _1678

* * *

**Present:**

February came cool and frozen across Burgess. Jack spent the time following Christmas dappling the world with snow, like heavy brush strokes of white across an otherwise colorful canvas.

He blamed _that_ analogy on Bunny, entirely. With all the time Jack had been spending in the Warren it was little wonder that everything he did suddenly reminded him of some aspect of the Pooka. Bunny seemed to invite him over so often it was nearly impossible to find time to _miss _him. (But he did it anyway.)

Their time was spent talking and playing and griping and it was _fun._ As Bunny spoke to Jack (of life and time, such a very _long_ time, that ticked away like an eternal heartbeat), Jack couldn't hope to repress or falter the swell of his _want_. A year ago Jack would have called it admiration. Bunny was good at his job. He cared about the children, with honesty and concern. He was devoted. Jack would have even admitted that also possessed a unique attractiveness that could be both rugged and gentle, despite their differing species.

But _now_. Now, it was a whole new game. _Admiration_ didn't make you imagine what someone's sleeping face looked like. _Admiration_ didn't make you wonder what waking up warm with fur against bare skin might feel like. _Admiration_ didn't make you want to trace someone's face with your fingertips until you'd memorized every nuance so you'd never forget.

At this point, what Jack Frost had wasn't admiration, but it wasn't love either. Not yet. But it _could_ be, and that potential never failed to flutter in his stomach every time green eyes looked his way.

Jack was discovering this during the early days of February, as Bunny began entering his busy period and Jack's visits slowed in frequency. As a result, Jack ruminated on his feelings as he finished one last, late Christmas present; which he was finally able to give to its recipient early one afternoon.

"Don't peek! Keep your eyes closed!"

Phil grumbled, but obeyed. He was careful as Jack led him around furniture in the Den. Phil relied on Jack's light tugs on his fur to navigate as they moved.

"And…stop! Okay." Jack's cold hand pat Phil's arm nervously. "You can, uh, look now." Even his voice sounded a bit nervous.

Phil glanced at Jack first (definitely nervous) before focusing on what was in front of him. Phil's eyes widened.

Set up next to Jack's nest-bed was a large wooden rocking chair. It was thick and sturdy looking with handles that curved down at the front. Phil walked over and ran his hand over the back. Behind him Jack rambled.

"I had to borrow stuff from North to make it properly, or else it would have been rough and ugly. I meant to give it to you earlier, but it wasn't done in time for Christmas, and it would have been hard to get to the Pole." Jack rubbed the back of his head. "Besides, I was kind of hoping you'd want to keep it here, for when you visit." The implication that Jack didn't just not mind him here, but _wanted_ him here was not lost on Phil. "I know my chairs are to small and weak for you, so…is, is it okay?"

Jack's voice became quiet. He rocked on his heels, anxiously waiting for Phil to respond. He paused when he noticed that the yeti was shaking.

"Phil?" Jack stepped around the rocking chair to look at Phil's face, and Jack's eyes reflected his surprise. "Phil…"

Phil was smiling, eyes scanning over every insignificant detail of the rocking chair. He was crying.

Phil closed his eyes and gave a great wet sniff. When he opened them he looked Jack in the eye, and spoke a few words in Yetish. Jack shook his head slowly. "I don't understand."

Phil mimed cradling a baby.

"Um…child?"

Phil nodded, then pointed to Jack.

Jack's brows furrowed. "Me? Are you calling me a child?"

Phil shook his head. He pointed to Jack, then himself.

"Me and you?" Phil shook his head again. "You and me? You are me? I am you? I am yours?" Phil stopped him, then waved his hand in a gesture showing 'kind of.' Jack tried again. "I am yours…I am _your_—" Phil nodded and held up a hand to show he was right. "Okay…I am your what?"

Phil mimed cradling a baby again.

"Child," Jack said. "I am your…Phil, are you asking me if…?"

Phil put a hand on Jack's shoulder. He said a single word in Yetish.

Jack gulped down the knot of nervous excitement in his throat. "Does that word mean son?"

Phil nodded.

Jack sucked in a breath. He recited the full charade-like puzzle Phil had had him put together. "I am your child." Then louder. "I am your _child_."

Phil brought Jack into his arms in a warm hug. He repeated the words in Yetish that he'd spoken earlier.

"Are you asking me to be your son?" Jack murmured.

Again, Phil nodded.

Now Jack was the one shaking. For a brief moment there was guilt, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Jack had a feeling that the late Samuel Overland would have understood, and wanted this for him. So Jack let the guilt go. Burying his face in fur, Jack wrapped as much of himself as he could around Phil. As an answer, he said, "I am your son."

Phil kissed the top of Jack's head, and made sure to leave a more permanent familial scent mark. Looking down at the boy that clung to him like moss to a river rock, Phil found himself thinking that Bunny better have been telling the truth on Christmas. Because if he wasn't and eh broke Jack's heart, Phil would have to find a much more creative punishment than simply carving him up.

Jack's next dream came a week later in mid-February.

* * *

**Dream:**

Jackson searched the woods with angry strides and flashing eyes as he scanned the tree line. Snow crunched under his boots, and he found himself fleetingly wishing he'd brought his staff when he nearly tripped over a rock hidden in the frost.

"Kozmotis!" Jack yelled. "Where are you?"

He halted breath misting as he panted. The air was cold enough to feel like daggers down his throat with every inhale. "Kozmotis, _what did you do?_"

"Jackson, really, must you be so loud?"

Jack spun around, hands already balled into fists. "What did you do?"

"I do a lot of things, Jack," Pitch said calmly. "You'll have to be more specific than that."

"Andrew," Jack grit out. "We were getting along just fine a few days ago, and now he won't come near me. He keeps saying something about monsters in the dark that will come and get him if he does!"

"Ah, so this is about your little _crush_, is it?" Pitch flickered into the shadows, and Jack sensed himself being circled with little flashes of black out of the corner of his eyes. "The one you _denied_ having?"

"Kozmotis, what did you do?" Jack asked quietly.

"Come now, it was only a small nightmare; hardly enough to cause any permanent damage."

"You can't _do_ that!"

"_**Oh**__?_" Suddenly Pitch was standing in front of him, and he felt larger somehow. "Please, pray tell, Jackson, _why not_? I am the _Bogeyman_; I can give nightmares to whoever I wish. And if that includes your little _farm boy_ then so be it."

"Why would you even want to?! He was just a crush, and you're my _friend_, Kozmotis."

"And you are _mine_."

Jack froze. He took in Pitch's stance, his actions, and the tone he spoke those final words in and came to a realization. Guilt churned in his stomach as he stared into Pitch's silver eyes. Silver eyes that watched him meaningfully, had possibly _always_ watched him that way. (And he'd never noticed; how had he never noticed?)

"Kozmotis…I-I'm not...I don't, I," Jack stuttered, and finally whispered, "I'm sorry."

Pitch's expression became blank. They watched each other for a time, until pain flickered across Pitch's face.

"Leave," Pitch said, closing his eyes.

"Koz—"

"_**Leave**_." He sounded desperate. "_Quickly._"

Jackson did so. But he looked back, just once; just in time to see the terror and resignation on Pitch's face before the Bogeyman opened bright gold eyes.

* * *

**Present:**

Jack woke up shaking.

What had that been?

_What had that been?_

He clutched the blanket in his fingers. His wide blue eyes stared blankly into the darkness of his Den; in the areas where the moonlight from the skylight could not penetrate. That darkness felt oppressive all of a sudden. Shivering, Jack sat up in his nest of blankets.

Had…had Pitch been in _love _with him? And Jack had rejected him—rejected the Bogeyman, and then…

_Bright gold eyes._

Jack suddenly felt very, very anxious.

Jack tossed the blankets aside until he was uncovered. He rolled up his right pant leg, revealing the anklet. The flowers seemed darker in the dim light. He slipped off the anklet, and cupped it in his palm contemplating his options. He could use it. But Bunny had said for _emergencies_, and one discomforting dream didn't exactly count as such.

But what Jack felt right now didn't feel like discomfort. This felt like panic; this felt like fear.

Perhaps that would be reason enough.

He pressed it to the earth. He felt the magic in him and in it respond when Jack called out, "Bunny, I need you." The anklet's magic shot into the ground and trickled away, seeking its creator with a hint of Jack's magic along for the ride.

Well, he noted grimly, at least he was getting some use out of the gift from this. Even if it meant he didn't feel safe being alone.

* * *

Bunny jolted awake. Something was wrong.

His ears twitched atop his head as he sat up in his nest. He'd been getting busier as the googie flowers sprouted. They'd bloom soon enough, and he'd have to start painting. It was getting to the point that his sleep was starting to suffer for it, and tonight was the first time this week he'd gotten to bed at his usual time.

He looked around his nest room, searching for the source of whatever had woken him. Then he felt it. The beginnings of a trickle of magic coming through the earth. It was getting stronger as he focused on it. There was a hint of something familiar in it. As sleep fell away entirely, Bunny recognized it, and he remembered.

_The anklet._

_ Jack._

He had a tunnel open the next moment, and was running.


	8. Every thrill is gone

**Songs this chapter was written to: _He's Hurting Me_ by Maria Mena; _Safe and Sound_ by Jason Chen (his cover of it); _The Minstrel's Prayer_ by Cartel; and _Whispers in the Dark_ by Skillet.**

* * *

If anything is sacred the human body is sacred.

-Walt Whitman, _I Sing the Body Electric, _in_ Leaves of Grass, _1855

* * *

**Present:**

The ground opened next to Jack's nest-bed just as he finished slipping the anklet back on, and Bunny jumped out seconds later in a rush of nervous energy. "Jack!"

"Bunny," Jack breathed in relief.

Bunny turned to him and put his hands on Jack's shoulders, half-climbing into the nest with Jack. "What's wrong? What happened?" His eyes scanned over Jack's face, intent.

Jack glanced away, feeling more uncertain about his decision to call on Bunny now that his fear had faded on the edges. "I," he began slowly, "had another dream…memory."

Bunny went slack, hunching over until his head hung just in front of Jack's chest. "Thank goodness. I thought something terrible had happened."

He lifted his head to give Jack a look that was nearly a glare. "Why would you use the anklet like that? Do you know how _worried_ I was?" He gave Jack a very light shake.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and brought his hands up to cover them. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was just scared."

Jack's hands were drawn away by Bunny's. Bunny searched Jack's expression and murmured, "It must have frightened you pretty bad to have called on me. What happened?"

Jack chewed the inside of his lip, wondering how much he should reveal. "It was about Pitch again."

"What'd that ratbag do?" Bunny demanded, eyes narrowing to slits.

"It's more like what _I_ did," Jack admitted. "I think—no, I know he was in love with me."

Bunny's face became carefully blank. "I think you should explain."

Jack told him about the confrontation, how Pitch had been angry and they'd argued. When Jack mentioned calling him 'Kozmotis,' Bunny's face became shadowed in old thoughts.

"Kozmotis was his name a long time ago," Bunny explained when Jack asked. "Before the Fearlings got ahold of him. Before he was Pitch Black."

Jack continued speaking, but grew anxious towards the end.

"What's wrong, Jack?" Bunny ran his hand soothingly along Jack's arms, and it was nice.

"It's just there was something _off_ about it. He looked so scared, Bunny." Jack took a deep breath. "And his eyes turned gold."

"_Turned_ gold?"

"I hadn't paid too much attention to it before," Jack said, "but…until now, until _then_, his eyes were always silver."

"Silver." Bunny's gaze grew distant. "Kozmotis."

"Bunny?"

"Jack, I think," he hesitated, "you may have met the remnants of the man Pitch was before he was the Bogeyman."

"How's that possible?" Jack squeezed his blankets in his fists.

"Pitch, Sandy, and I have been here for a long time, Jack," Bunny said, and it was someone very tired who looked at Jack now. "Maybe it's possible that some part of Kozmotis survived in dormancy, and you called it out somehow."

Jack thought for a moment. He quietly asked, "Did Kozmotis have children?"

"One. A daughter." Bunny looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"Because the first time I met him I was screaming for my dad."

It was very quiet for a moment. When Bunny breathed out it felt loud. "That could do it," he murmured.

"His eyes turned gold." Jack felt guilt churn his stomach. "Does that mean…?"

Bunny shrugged. "It's possible Kozmotis was able to hide the piece of himself away again."

"So Kozmotis might still be in there?"

"It's possible."

Jack's hope swelled, and Bunny's nose twitched as he sensed it. "You really care about him, huh?"

Jack nodded. "I may not have loved him the way…the way _he _loved me, but he was my friend." The more he thought about it, the more he realized how true that was. Kozmotis had been his friend. His—Jack closed his eyes with sudden understanding.

His best friend.

Bunny pat the top of Jack's head. "This must have really upset you. I'm glad you told me."

Jack opened his eyes, and smiled. "Thank you. I'm sorry it wasn't really an emergency."

"It was emergency enough."

Jack nodded, then furrowed his brow. "Bunny, I, uh…"

Bunny cocked his head. "What?"

"I don't want to be alone." Jack wouldn't meet his gaze. "I don't feel safe."

"I understand." Bunny squirmed a little self-consciously "I was going to suggest this anyway, but why don't you come stay with me for a bit? You're over a bunch as it is."

Jack blinked very quickly. "I can't just—"

"At least until we know where your memories are going with this," Bunny bargained. When it seemed Jack would still protest, he added, "Please, Jackie."

Jack held back his words. He looked uncertain at first, but it faded to acceptance. "Okay."

"Good." Bunny looked around. "Just grab a couple of things and we can head out." His lips twitched. "Now that I think on it, I've never been here before."

"Oh." Jack sprang from the blankets and gestured around the cave. "This is my Den. I've lived here for a long time. I made the furniture myself."

"It's homey." Bunny pointed at the rocking chair. "That looks new. Recent addition?"

"I made it for Phil." Jack rubbed the back of his head. He found himself repeating the words he'd said last time he'd shown someone the Den. "It's not much, but—"

"It's home," Bunny finished.

Jack stared at him for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah. It's home."

Jack scooped up his knitting needles, staff, and hoodie. He threw his new cloak from Tooth on over his shirt. Once that was done he turned to Bunny. "I'm ready."

Bunny tapped his foot twice, opening a tunnel. He gestured for Jack to go first. Before jumping in, Jack glanced curiously at the rocking chair. "Hey Bunny, you've been around North and the yeti for a long time, right?"

"I suppose."

"You wouldn't happen to know the Yetish word for father, would you?"

"Hertaf. Why?"

Jack chuckled. "A surprise."

Then he hopped in the tunnel and Bunny followed after. It closed behind them, a purple aster springing to life where it had been.

* * *

"Well, let's get you settled here for now."

Bunny had brought Jack to a small cottage at the top of a large hill in a tucked away corner of the Warren. As Jack discovered, the cottage itself only contained the kitchen and sitting room. The rest of the home was actually through a hole in the floor, and had a ladder leading down to everything else. Which, if Bunny was to believed, took up most of the hill the cottage actually sat upon.

For now, however, jack didn't venture into that area. Bunny settled him on the couch in the sitting room, his things going on a side table in a pile. His staff leaned against the wall just by the couch.

Bunny handed Jack a quilt and a pillow. "You good sleeping here?"

Jack nodded. "I'll be fine."

Bunny smiled. "Alright. I'll be down below; just call if you need something."

"Okay." Jack la on the couch, wrapping himself loosely in the quilt. As the sound of Bunny's footsteps died away down the ladder to the underground., Jack discretely pulled the blanket closer to his face. There was a nice floral musk to it, accompanied by something warm and _green_ smelling. It smelled like Bunny.

Jack fell asleep comfortable.

* * *

**Dream:**

Dawn was breaking, and Jackson Overland lay in his bed.

There was a hand over his mouth.

Jack panicked, squirming to break free. He opened his mouth and bit the hand.

The hand drew back, its owner hissing. "That's not very nice, Jackson."

Jack calmed slightly at the familiar voice, but something kept him from relaxing entirely. What was Kozmotis doing in his room? Jack tried to sit up, but Pitch pushed him back down, hovering over him.

"Get off Kozmotis, I want to get up."

"Mmm, I'm afraid I can't do that, Jackson." His fingers bit into Jack's shoulders, keeping him pinned.

Jack winced, and struggled more against the grip. "Kozmotis, this isn't funny."

"_Do_ stop calling me that." Pitch leaned down to bite Jack's chin in a harsh nip.

Jack became stiff at the action. He looked into Pitch's maliciously amused eyes.

…golden eyes.

This was not Kozmotis. This was Pitch. This was the Bogeyman.

Dread crawled up his spine with icy claws.

Pitch wrapped one hand around Jack's neck, squeezing when Jack tried to fight away.

"Hold. _Still._"

Jack glared up at Pitch. "No."

Pitch's eyebrow slowly curved upward. Then he squeezed.

Jack coughed, and tried to claw at Pitch's arms and chest. His body jolted as he tried to breathe. Pitch watched blankly, his eyes glowing bright gold. He finally let go, and Jack coughed as he scrabbled for air. Pitch kept his hand at Jackson's throat.

"Now be good," Pitch said, "and hold still."

Jack was shaking, eyes wide as he watched Pitch take the hand not on Jack's throat and run it down his chest over his nightshirt. Panic set in when Pitch slid Jack's light pants down his legs. Jack gave a kick at Pitch, and was given a warning squeeze on his throat in return. Beneath his pants Jack was bare. Pitch ran sharp nails along the inside of Jack's thigh. Pitch pulled Jack's legs apart just as a knock came to the door, the knob rattling as someone tried to open it. (Which Pitch must have locked because Jack _never_ locked his door; he always _always_ left it open for—)

"Jack?" Emma called through the door. "Jack, get up! You promised!"

Jack turned his head slightly, gaze flicking to the door and back to Pitch. Pitch looked into Jack's terrified eyes, then gave the door a quick glance. A cruel smile slicked its way onto his face.

"I could let her see," he said. "I could unlock the door, and let your _precious_ little sister see you like this." He squeezed Jack's thigh for emphasis. "She wouldn't see _me_; she doesn't believe in _me._ But you, Jackson…_she'd see you._"

Jack tried to shake his head rapidly, only succeeding a little bit due to the restraining hand on his neck. He stared at Pitch with eyes wet with tears that were one part humiliation and two parts terror. (She couldn't see him like this, not like this, never like this—not trapped and forced and frightened. Not Emma. Never Emma.)

Pitch's smile took on a sharp edge. "You have such _delicious _fear. Have I ever told you that?"

"Jack!" The knock came again. "Are you okay?" She sounded a little worried.

Pitch rolled his eyes. "Brat." He leaned down and gave a last nibble to Jack's chin. "I had a few more preparations to make anyways. I'll be back, Jackson."

Pitch dissolved into the shadows. The moment he was gone Jack darted up and pulled on his pants. He rushed for the door and unlocked it, throwing it open. "Emma!"

"Jack!" She smiled up at him, sweet and kind. Her face scrunched with concern. "Jack, are you okay? You're shaking."

Jack blinked long and heavy, composing himself and forcing away the tremors. "I'm fine," he finally said. He smiled, lopsided and embarrassed. "I just had a nightmare, that's all."

"Oh." She looked relieved.

Jack ruffled her hair. "Let me get dressed, okay? Then I'll take you ice skating like I promised."

She giggled, batting his hand away. "Okay, okay. Hurry up."

He laughed. "I will. Just give me a few minutes." He closed the door.

For a few seconds he stared at it. Brown wood. Scratch marks from years of use. Familiar.

Jack fell to his knees in a trembling, sobbing heap.

He was going to need those few minutes.

* * *

**Present:**

Jack woke with the feeling of a hand on his neck.

Jack curled into a ball, vainly attempting to suppress a whimper.

"Jack?"

He jumped, and sat up. "Bunny?"

"Are you alright? I heard you making noises in your sleep." He stepped forward, flicking on an oil lamp on a desk by a big green armchair.

Jack looked down at his lap. "I'm fine."

Bunny watched him. "You had another memory." Jack didn't deny it. "Was it bad?" Jack stayed quiet.

He heard Bunny sigh, and the next thing Jack knew he was being thrown over shoulder.

"Woah!" Jack wiggled as Bunny carried him to the hole in the floor, putting the lamp out as he went. Bunny jumped down the hole, and began walking along the modified hallways he'd dug out over the years. A few glowing flowers hung on vines that crawled along the walls, lighting their way. "Where are you taking me?"

They came into a room whose main feature was a pile of fluff, fabric, and a few stray twigs. Bunny plopped Jack onto what was basically a bigger, better, more glorious version of his own bed-nest. Jack looked around, taking in the small bits of blue-gray fur and hand sown blankets on top of what seemed to be a hand-stuffed mattress. More glowing flowers on vines lit the room. "Bunny climbed into the nest and pulled Jack into his chest. The flowers closed their petals, turning out the light. "Sleep."

"But—"

"Jack," Bunny's eyes pierced the darkness, and Jack was helpless to resist listening. "I'll watch over you. You're safe here. So please," he nuzzled Jack's forehead, "sleep."  
Jack closed his eyes, and snuggled closer.

This time, he fell asleep smiling.


	9. I'll paint you mornings of gold

**I have been looking forward to this one for so long.**  
**Get ready, ladies and gents!**  
**Songs this chapter was written to: _Do You Want to Build a Snowman?_ from Frozen; _Who You Are_ by Jessie J; _Story of My Life_ by One Direction (I blame my sisters); _Angel With A Shotgun_ by The Cab; and _Little Bird_ by Ed Sheeran.**

* * *

What's past is prologue.

-Shakespeare, _The Tempest, _II, i_, _1610/1611

* * *

**Present:**

It started with a quilt.

Jack had been living with Bunny for a month, and it was now mid-March. He hadn't had a single dream in that time. One morning at breakfast Jack had mentioned off-hand his desire for one of his favorite quilts. Bunny had appeared with it an hour later, draped over his arm.

Then it was a book Jack mentioned, then his stuffed tiger and his angel. The quilt and lion found their way into the nest, the book onto one of Bunny's own shelves, and the angel onto a windowsill by a pot of flowers. Jack thought Emma would have liked that.

Jack spent his time reading Bunny's books, helping Bunny in the garden, or, more often than not, teaching himself to cook in Bunny's kitchen. He'd taken up making meals as Bunny became more and more busy with Easter preparations. He tried to make sure Bunny ate and slept regularly, but it was harder than it seemed. Jack did figure out that making Bunny talk seemed to help with getting the big busy-body to pace himself, so he didn't burn out trying to rush through things. It had the added benefit that when Jackgot hungry Bunny would put his brush down to make _Jack_ eat something, and would end up eating as well.

Through their conversations, the month passed as a time of learning.

Both for Jack…

* * *

"Why do you have so many books?"

"I'm a scholar as much as I am a warrior, mate. I've even got the robes for it."

"Robes? You wear **clothes**?"

"Oi, they're not as bad as the glasses."

"You wear **glasses**?!"

* * *

…and for Bunny.

* * *

"My dad looked just like me, you know."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, but he was a lot sterner than I was—and he had facial hair."

"I can't picture it, mate."

* * *

Suddenly there were nicknames.

* * *

"Don't even think about it, Frostbite."

"I think you need to cool off a bit there, Jackie."

"Hey, you look tired Snowflake. Let's go to bed."

"I appreciate it Snowdrop."

* * *

And for Bunny, a true name.

* * *

"Mind handing me that paint brush, Jackie?"

"Sure thing, Bunny."

"…Aster."

"Huh?"

"Aster. It's my name. I want you to call me Aster."

"…okay…Aster."

* * *

And one day, there was almost a kiss.

* * *

They'd decided to have lunch outside. The last two weeks before Easter were always crunch time, and they knew they wouldn't have time for such things after this.

A checkered blanket had been laid out on the grass, an assortment of finger-foods and a pitcher of lemonade set out for consumption. Jack lay on his stomach with his hands under his chin, fingers framing his face on either side. He kicked his feet absently, watching Bunny sketch the field before them. A cracker slathered in strawberry jam dangled between his lips.

"Aspher?"

"Chew your food," Bunny said, never looking up from his sketch.

Jack scowled. Using his tongue, Jack maneuvered the cracker into fully into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "_Aster?_" he tried again, enunciating sarcastically.

Bunny smirked, swiping his pencil over the page in a smooth motion. "_Yes,_ Snowflake?"

Jack sat up. "What does hope feel like?"

Bunny's hand slowed on the page. "It's different for each person."

"Well, then what does mine feel like?"

Bunny paused. He closed his eyes. "Young," he said. "Quiet, but getting stronger, louder each day. Honest," he continued, "and blunt." He took a deep breath, like he was tasting it. "Sweet, but not overwhelming. It's a good hope." He opened his eyes.

"What," he hesitated, "did my old hope feel like? You mentioned it once."

Bunny stared at his sketch, unseeing, and when he answered his voice was quiet. "Old. Ragged. Desperate. But _strong_." He pursed his lips in something like self-loathing. "And perhaps a bit bitter."

He started sketching once more, the _scritch-scratch_ the only sound for a few moments. "Like I said, the hope you have now is a good hope."

"Oh," Jack said quietly.

Bunny smiled, and turned to say something, but instead gave a huffing laugh when he saw Jack. "You eat like a child. There's jam on your lip."

Bunny leaned in and reached out before Jack could react, brushing Jack's lower lip with his thumb. Jack tensed, eyes widening as frost spread across his cheeks in a blush.

Bunny stopped his movement with his thumb still on Jack's lip, taken surprise by Jack's sudden action. His eyes scanned the frost. "You're blushing," he realized softly.

Jack's lips parted in a cool exhale over Bunny's thumb. Their eyes locked, and Jack hadn't realized how close they'd gotten. They stared at each other, the air charged with awareness as they waited for something to happen.

And Jack, uncertainty prickling his mind, pulled away. He coughed into his fist as Bunny sat back, picking his pencil up.

"So," he said, determined to ignore the entire event (because what if he was wrong; what if he messed up and scared Aster off for good, after he'd worked so hard to get this close?), "do you think I can sense joy?"

"Probably. It's a sense, you just have to feel for it. Someday, you might be able to sense what someone's greatest joys are."

Jack scoot across the grass until he sat back to back with Bunny. "That would be nice," he murmured.

He ran his fingers over his bottom lip. He did as Bunny instructed, and tried to feel for joy, using his previous knowledge of his own joy to help in sensing others. Success welled in him when he managed to catch one. It was Aster's. He would have been able to tell that even if they hadn't been the only ones in the Warren. It was too vague for him to make out details, but just sensing it was already more than he'd known he could do.

…sense someone's greatest joys…

He hoped so. He wanted to, so he could look at the bright speck of Bunny's joy and read what made it glow brightest.

Because Jack was already pretty sure he knew what made his glow, and it sat, warm and wonderful, pressed against his back.

* * *

Easter approached almost too quickly after that. Jack and Bunny argued the day before when Jack tried to get Bunny to rest before he had to leave. It ended in Bunny leaving an hour early to start hiding eggs, and Jack went to bed that night upset on top of having to be alone.

And that night, he finally dreamed.

* * *

**Dream:**

"Be careful."

Jackson laughed and turned at the waist to look back at the front door, where his mother smiled at him. His father hovered just behind her, gaze softer than his stern expression usually allowed.

"We will," he promised. He gave in to Emma's insisted tugs on his hand and followed behind her, but couldn't help looking back at them just a few more times as they left.

Jack was unusually quiet on the way to the lake, the morning's encounter with Koz—…Pitch leaving its mark on his mood. His words worried him, and Jack feared for what he might have planned.

At least, he tried to cheer himself, he'd be able to get his staff back from where he'd left it at the lake the other day.

The lake shone in the early sun. Light glimmered off the snow blanketing the surrounding trees. It was beautiful, and Jack smiled as it eased his worries a bit.

Emma plopped onto a log, and struggled to force her boots off. He huffed, and took his skates off of where they hung over his shoulder. He set them aside, crouching in front of her. "Here, let me help."

Emma pouted, but let him help her. As he got the first skate on she said, "Are you okay?"

"What do you mean?" He laced it, and worked on slipping on the second.

"You seem sad," she said.

He finished her second skate. He kissed her cheek, and smiled. "I'm fine."

"Promise?" She was frowning, and his heart ached to see it.

He just wanted her to smile.

Instead of answering, he poked her side. "Goodness Emma, don't you ever smile? Ah, see! There it is!"

She screeched when he tickled her, forcing her to giggle and smile.

"Ja-a-ack!" She laughed. "_Stop!_"

He did, her happiness making him grin. He stood, and helped her to her feet. "Come on little sister, let's skate."

She nodded, taking to the ice as he put his own skates on. It was a little uncomfortable to be barefoot in them, but it was nothing he hadn't done before, and would be well worth the blisters. He took a moment to look around for his staff, and spotted it on the ice near the middle of the lake. Content knowing its location, he took to the ice after Emma. He'd grab it later when they left.

The siblings spent the next hour playing. Emma laughed and laughed, and it was a lift to Jack's fears. He chased her in circles, knowing he was the better skater and could catch her at any time. But he didn't, because there was something wonderful in the way she'd shout her laughter anew every time she looked back and saw him chasing after.

He'd do this forever if it meant seeing her smile.

It was a morning of joy.

As their energy wound down, Jack began skating around the lake's edge. In the absence of their play, his worries sought to engage him once more. He unconsciously began skimming the shadows of the trees with his eyes. He was so distracted by his preoccupation that he didn't notice the danger, or hear the first crack.

Emma screamed.

Surprised, Jack spun to find her. She was facing him, her arms held out to her sides as she sought to keep her balance in the middle of the lake. He skated closer to see what was wrong, and heard the ice creak under him. He stopped and looked down, seeing the white stress marks in the ice. Looking at Emma's feet, he saw the spider web fractures of ice about to break.

Jack looked back at Emma, and slowly crouched down. He had to take his skates off. The blades would focus his weight onto too small an area, and would only make the ice break faster. He slipped them off, setting them aside slowly. Now on one knee, he looked to Emma.

"It's okay; it's okay." He extended his hand, like if he reached hard enough he could grab her. He glanced at the ice, checking that the cracks hadn't gotten any bigger.

"Don't look down," he said softly. "Just look at me." He brought his reaching hand to his chest, over his heart. As calm as he tried to seem, his heart betrayed him, beating like a hummingbird's wings against his palm.

"Jack." Her voice was shaky, and it made everything in him horrified to hear it. "I'm _scared_."

He drew in a sharp breath. The ice cracked further under her. "I know; I know." He knew she was scared, because he was terrified.

He carefully lifted himself to his feet, and tried to take a step. The ice splintered out under his foot. He gave it a worried look, raising his hands up and out slightly. He forced a smile. "But, you're gonna be alright."

He took a breath. "You're not gonna fall in." He shook his head, as though the force of his will alone could pull her off the ice. "Uh." He clenched his fists, searching his mind for a solution. He glanced off to the side, and there, laying forgotten on the ice, was his staff.

An idea came to mind, and if it worked…

Jack knew the ice. He'd been playing on it for as long as he could remember. He knew how to spin and jump and slide. He knew how things moved on ice. Which meant he knew exactly what would happen if he did this. The ice was barely holding her weight. It would never hold his.

Jack acknowledged this in a second, and in the next had accepted the consequences.

He'd sacrifice anything if it meant keeping her safe.

He perked up, spreading his arms and smiling wide. "We're gonna have a little fun, instead!"

"No, we're not!" She was close to tears, and it hurt to hear.

"Would I trick you?"

"Yes, you _always_ plays tricks!"

"Well, alright," he forced laughter into his voice, and hoped it didn't sound as false to her as it did to him, "well not-not-_not_ this time. I promise, I _promise_, you're gonna be," he choked back the lump in his throat, "you're gonna be fine."

But she wouldn't. What he was going to do would hurt her, for a long time, but…if it meant she was _safe_…

"You have to believe in me," he said.

Because if _she_ didn't, _he_ never would.

She breathed out in a single calming puff.

"You wanna play a game?" he asked enthusiastically. "We're gonna play hopscotch. Like we play every day." But they wouldn't anymore, would they? "It's-it's as easy as, uh," he took a step to the right, towards the staff, "one." The ice groaned and cracked beneath his foot. He grimaced, and tried to hide it by balancing on the one foot, like he was just playing around. "Whoa!"

She laughed, and it strengthened his resolve.

"Two." He stepped. "Three!" He took a large, final step, right next to the staff.

He crouched, reaching for the staff, never taking his eyes off of her. He didn't want to waste a single second, limited as he knew they were. His fingers brushed wood, and relief crowded the swirling tumult of grief, fear, and calm understanding that was his heart. "Alright," he breathed. "Now it's your turn."

He brought the staff around, extending it at the ready, but she wasn't close enough yet. "One."

She took a step that could barely be called a step, gasping when the ice made a sharp sound and splintered. "That's it; that's it," he reassured. She needed to keep going, he couldn't reach her from here. "Two."

She stepped again, crying out when the ice made a terrible _groan_.

"Three." He _reached_.

The staff hooked around her waist. He swung the staff, flinging her away onto unbroken ice. He yelled as he slid into her place. He righted himself up, because he had to make _sure—_

She pushed herself up on her little hands, and smiled at him.

He grinned, and knew what would happen even as he tried to walk towards her.

...but it was worth it. It would always, always be worth it.

He opened his mouth, because he had to say goodbye. He had to tell her he loved her, just _one more time…_

But he didn't. The ice gave way before he could.

He heard her scream his name.

…it was dark.

…it was cold.

…he was _scared._

* * *

**Present:**

Jack woke up with the vestiges of Emma's muffled scream in his ears.

He threw his hand over his mouth as the first sob choked in his throat. Was Bunny home yet? He sat up, wiping furiously at the tears that slicked his cheeks. He heard a high keening sound, and it took him a moment to realize he was the one making it.

"A-A-Aster!" he called, words distorted by the full-bodied sobs that shook him to the bone, "_Ast-ter!"_

He hoped he was here. He hoped he would come.

Because Jack was hurting and for the first time he wanted someone to be _with_ him while he cried.

There was a sound in the shadows to his right. He turned towards it, but the light flowers didn't seem to be working as well as they usually did, and he couldn't see clearly. "Aster?"

"Not quite." Golden eyes smirked back at him, and Jack gasped. "Good morning, Jack."

The room went dark.

* * *

**And down the rabbit hole we go.**


	10. As the pain sweeps through

**Heeeey.**  
**So, um, this chapter is...well. **  
**_A warning_. The dream sequence in this one gets a bit dark. Just so you know.**  
**Songs this chapter was written to: _Prelude 12/21_ by AFI; _Smooth Criminal_ the Alien Ant Farm cover; _Pet_ by A Perfect Circle; and _Demons_ by Imagine Dragons.**

**Again, the dream sequence. Seriously. I warn you. It's darker than my usual.**

* * *

All farewells should be sudden.

-Lord Byron, _Sardanaplus, _1821

* * *

**Present:**

Bunny gave an exhausted sigh as he trudged up the hill to the cottage. He'd only watched a few egg hunts this time around, unlike previous years, and only stayed for those because of last year's mishap. Luckily it hadn't been bad in the long run and attendance, from what he'd seen, was back up. He would have stayed, except…

He groaned, irritated with himself. He shouldn't have yelled at Jack. He'd just been looking out for Bunny. Maybe he'd been tired and stressed, but that was no excuse for it. He'd gone and thrown a bit of a tantrum too, leaving early like he had. He just knew Jack must've gone to bed upset.

Bunny peeked around the cottage, surprised when he didn't see anyone. Strange, it was nearly noon. He'd expected Jack to be up by now. "Jack?" he called, just in case. There was no response.

Bunny climbed down into the halls under the cottage, the light-flowers coming to life as he jumped along. "Jack?" he called again.

He entered the nest room, but Jack was nowhere to be seen. His ears drooped. Jack must have decided to kip elsewhere.

He didn't bother taking his bandolier off as he crawled into the bed, too exhausted and, now, downhearted to bother with it. He'd have to apologize whenever Jack came home.

…huh. He wondered when he'd started thinking of it as being _their_ home and not just his.

Bunny reached out as he settled in, and grabbed Jack's favorite quilt. He pulled it close, hoping he might catch some of Jack's scent still on it. He was used to having Jack beside him when he slept now. He took a deep breath, and paused. Odd. Jack's scent was stronger than he'd expected, if Jack had slept elsewhere the night before. He sniffed again, brow ridges furrowing. It was almost like...Jack _had_ slept in the nest.

But then where was he?

He gave another sniff, and his ears shot straight up as he jerked back. Was that…? He leaned forward, nose twitching as he checked over every inch of the quilt for the barest traces…

He stiffened. There was no doubt about it. _Fear._ Jack had left the barest traces of fear behind.

But where was he? Unless it was another dream, Jack had nothing to fear in the Warren. And Bunny didn't think Jack would leave if he was really afraid.

He sat up, unease rolling in his gut, and scanned the room. Nothing seemed amiss at first, and he nearly reconciled himself with the knowledge that Jack really must have left the Warren.

Until he spotted a small object in the corner. Bunny climbed out of the nest. He picked it up, recognizing it instantly. A wooden horse, seeming smaller in his palm than Jack's. Jack kept it with him always, in his hoodie pocket or tucked away in the folds of his cloak.

_"It's the first gift I ever got," Jack admitted, running his fingers over its head with care. "Phil made it for me. I carry it everywhere."_

No matter how upset he was, Jack would never leave his horse behind.

Something was wrong.

He tucked the horse into his bandolier. Tapping his foot, he opened a tunnel, and dashed through, headed for the Pole. He sped across the snow, ignoring how uncomfortable and cold his feet were. He burst through the huge front doors, calling as he ran into the workshop. "North! North!"

"Bunny?"

He paused, looking up from the middle of the work floor to where North leaned over the second floor railing, staring at him like he'd gone mad.

Bunny jumped, bouncing off the wall and straight at North. He grabbed the railing and swung himself over, coming to a stop next to North.

"What is going on?" North looked him over, worry in his stance. "Why are you here, Bunny? Not that I mind when friends come—"

"It's Jack," Bunny interrupted. "Use the Aurora. He's missing."

* * *

"Bunny, explain what happened."

He breathed in slowly, struggling to control his anxiety. "I got home, and Jack wasn't there. I figured he'd kipped elsewhere, since we'd had a blue before I left, but then I smelled fear in the nest—"

"He sleeps in your _nest?_"

"_North._ Now is _not_ the time."

North held up his hands. "My apologies."

"Continue Bunny, please," Tooth urged. Baby Tooth was perched on her shoulder, fairly jittery with nervous energy. Several other fairies fluttered around her.

Leaning against the wall was Phil, arms crossed and even more somber than usual. Another yeti, Debbie, hovered at his side, looking worried. Sandy floated near the globe, appearing deep in thought.

"I might have brushed off the fear and kept thinking he'd just gone off to be alone, but then I found this." Bunny pulled out the wooden horse. "Jack always has it with him."

"He might have forgotten it," North pointed out.

"You don't understand, mate." He shook the horse lightly. "He _never_ leaves it. It's his treasure."

A big hand closed over the horse, and Bunny jolted because he hadn't even realized Phil had been approaching him. He let Phil take it, and the yeti held the horse in his palm. Phil stared at it, then closed his fingers over it, nearly hiding the entire thing. He squeezed it so hard, Bunny feared Phil might accidentally break it.

Phil took a heavy, shuddering exhale, and clutched the horse to his chest. Bunny looked Phil straight in the eye. "We'll find him," he assured. Phil nodded.

"But why?" Tooth suddenly asked. "Who would take Jack? There aren't many who even know about him yet."

Sandy, looking serious, slowly pulled up an image of Pitch.

"Perhaps." North turned to Bunny. "Has Jack said anything to you about Pitch and his dreams since the wendigo?"

Bunny outlined what he knew, ending with the changing eye colors when Jack had rejected Kozmotis.

"He's had another dream, but he didn't tell me about that one. I don't think he's had any others."

"Jack's the one who was thwarting him last year, too." Tooth brought a hand to her mouth in concern. "You don't think he remembers Jack as Jackson, do you?"

"If he does, Jack hasn't mentioned knowing," Bunny said. "And it can't be a good thing."

Bunny suddenly froze. His ears shot up. "Well if it is Pitch, we're about to find out."

"How?"

"Because," he said, slowly, "Jack's using his anklet."

He tapped open a tunnel, and they all tumbled in, racing for Jack.

* * *

Jack searched the bars of the hanging cage over for a weak spot once more. He'd done it several times already, and knew there were none, but it was worth a shot. Frustrated, he shoved the bars, which accomplished nothing. If only he had his _staff_.

"Didn't anyone tell you to control your temper, Jackson?"

Jack scowled at Pitch, who floated on a cloud of black sand. "Pitch."

"It's good to see you're awake…and you remember me now, don't you?"

"How did you know about that?"

"You're not hard to keep tabs on, Jack, even in that little rabbit's haven you've holed yourself into recently."

"How did you break into the Warren?" Jack demanded, gripping the bars of his cage in a white knuckled hold.

Pitch laughed. He floated a bit closer on his cloud of black sand, and with a wave of his hand sent a small burst of it to knock into the cage, setting it rocking. "Break in? How rude, Jack. Why, I was practically invited."

Jack swayed in the cage, wishing fervently that Pitch didn't have a thing for hanging cages. Once he caught his balance he repeated, "How?"

Pitch's smirk was sly and mocking. "Well Jack, it started with a _quilt._"

Jack's eyes went wide. "My quilt?"

"And other things."

"My things?" Did that include his angel? He grit his teeth. "What did you…?"

Pitch cocked his head with a small shrug. "It's not hard to lace things with sand, Jackson. Unfortunately you'd already hidden yourself away by the time I'd built up enough strength once more, so I expected I'd just have to wait until you came back." His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "But you_ didn't_, did you? Luckily the rabbit seemed quite eager to collect your things for you. Normally I couldn't set foot in that hole in the ground, but since it was him bringing it all in, all I had to do was wait until enough sand got brought over to make a portal."

"_Why?_" Jack shook his head forcefully. "Why are you even doing this?"

"Because you're _mine_, Jack." The echo of long ago words unsettled Jack.

"No," he asserted, "I'm not."

"But you_ are_." Pitch circled the cage. "You made Pitchiner fall in _love_ with you, remember? Which translated over to quite a _fixation_ on my part."

He ceased his circles, and smiled gratefully at Jack. "I must thank you. Until the wendigo attacked you, he'd only show himself to stare longingly at families for such brief moments. And then you called him forth and, perfectly enough, made him fall in love, despite the circumstances in which he'd been called. And no matter how pure the love, there will always be jealousy, giving me just enough room to get in and begin twisting things around.

"_You're _the reason he scared that boy away?" Jack frowned, understanding coming in on a slow tide. "That he was so possessive?"

"It was really too easy. He was jealous. And jealousy is just fear wearing anger's mask and envy's crown." Pitch gave Jack a look of pity. "But then you rejected him, and it tore his defenses so much it left poor Kozmotis wide open for me to take control once more, and finally put him down."

Jack's hands went slack on the bars. Kozmotis was…

He shuddered. "What do you want from me?"

"What I've wanted since Pitchiner handed over this little fixation. I wanted to make you mine as a human, but by the time I got back to take you away, after preparing this place, these cages," Pitch gestured around them, "you had disappeared, and I was unable to find you. If only the Man in the Moon hadn't put that spell on you, I'd have found you much faster. I did peek in that night, but I suppose I just didn't _see_ you." He said it harshly, meaning for it to hurt Jack the way he knew it would. "But now I'm going to keep you properly."

Pitch drifted closer. "First must come your punishment, you understand. You must be taught discipline."

Pitch held up a hand, a wisp of black sand twining through his fingers. It was so black the granules blended together, so it seemed more like a crude slick of oil than sand. "I've made sure it's potent, just for you." He said it like it was a privilege.

The sand crept towards him, and Jack scrambled to the back of the cage. "You," he started, "once said your name was Kozmotis. Is that still even a little bit true?"

If Kozmotis was still in there, even a little bit…

He wanted his friend back.

Pitch paused, and then seemed endeared. "Oh, Jackson, you think he's still alive." Pitch sent the sand forward. "No, Jack. Kozmotis is dead, and you're the one that let me kill him.

Guilt cut through his chest. "They'll find me," he declared, summoning courage he wasn't sure was real. They had to realize something was wrong, at least—he'd left the horse for Bunny, and Bunny had to know Jack wouldn't do that.

"How, Jack? They don't even know where to look."

The sand hit his face, and Jack fell into a nightmare.

* * *

**Twisted Dream:**

The wendigo's teeth sank into his stomach, blood dripping down his chest to slide down his neck. It dribbled onto his face and in his mouth, choking his screams. The wendigo slurped up the blood as Jack cried. It chewed on the fat and muscle. Blood now dripped from Jack's hair in a combined mess with his tears.

The wendigo ate him alive.

* * *

"Push through, wrap the yarn, pull through, and slide off…"

Jack's mother took her hands off of his. Jack turned to her in his chair to where she kneeled at his side. "Mom?"

She took one of the knitting needles from him, the yarn stitches pulled off to leave it bare. As he watched, she brought the point to her eye. "Take a break, Jackson." She pushed the needle in, but it slipped off to the side. She repositioned, and this time found purchase as she stabbed the needle slowly into her eye. "It will never come out right if you force it."

"Stop it!" Jack threw himself at her, trying to pull the knitting needle out, but her grip was too strong. She kept pushing it in further and further, blood streaming from her eye and painting his and her fingers red. He sobbed. "Please stop it, Mammy!"

She did, but pushed his hands away before he could pull the needle out. She cupped his face, streaking blood across his cheeks. Again she was too strong, and he couldn't pull away. "You're so handsome, Jackson," she said. "Just like your father. You have his face and his hair."

Jack, shaking and sobbing, found he couldn't not say the words. "But I have your eyes."

She smiled, warm and sweet as blood dripped from her eye and drenched her face and dress. She swiped her thumb under his eye, leaving a line of red behind. She hooked a finger next to his eye, nail poking it gently on the edge. "You do." She kissed his forehead, and ripped his eye out.

* * *

"But you can be reckless, too. I've seen you go on your hikes, coming home barefoot and bleeding because you lost your footing on a hill or some other disaster." Samuel twisted his leg until it broke, and then kept _twisting._ Horrible cracks rent the air. The sound of ripping skin was loud as Samuel Overland tore his own leg off.

He tore open the thigh of his removed leg, digging through muscle until he found bone. Samuel yanked with a grunt, and after a high _snap_ and wet squelch held up his femur. Bits of flesh clung to it, and it dripped, red and bloody. He handed it to Jack. "So I want you to take this."

Jack, unable to obey his will, was forced by his own body to take the bone in hand. Barely able to hear past his own warbled keening, he found himself saying, "It's smooth."

"I want you to carve the rest," Samuel explained. The snow all around him was stained red in bright splotches. "Make it your own."

Jack gripped the bone tight, dry heaves choking in his throat. "Thank you, Dad."

Samuel gave a rare, gentle smile. "I'm proud of you, Jack."

Jack whimpered.

* * *

She took a step that could barely be called a step, gasping when the ice made a sharp sound and splintered. "That's it; that's it," he reassured. She needed to keep going, he couldn't reach her from here. "Two."

She stepped again, crying out when the ice made a terrible _groan_.

"Three." He _reached._

But instead of hooking her around the waist, he watched himself shove the crook into her solar plexus, knocking her onto her back. She cried out in pain. She sat up, betrayal written across her face in bold lettering, and the ice gave out under her. She plunged into the lake.

"No," he whispered. He'd shoved her. He'd pushed her. He'd—he'd…

…_he'd killed her._

"No!" He scrabbled forward, but the ice was frozen over, and no matter how much he pounded, until his knuckles were broken and bloody, he couldn't even make a crack.

"Emma!" he screamed. "_**Emma**_!"

He couldn't save her.

* * *

**Present:**

Jack stared through the bars for several minutes after waking, unable to summon the will to move. His jaw ached. He'd been gritting his teeth in his sleep. His throat hurt. He'd been trying to scream, too.

He curled into a ball, wiping tears and snot from his face with his sleeve. He heard a clank.

Lifting up just enough to see what the sound was, he spotted the anklet, which had slipped out from under his pant leg.

The anklet.

Jack scrambled into a sitting position, pulling it from his foot. He cradled the anklet in his hands. This was it. He could get help with this. But he had to get it to earth…

Jack jumped to his feet, and the cage swayed. He couldn't break the bars—they were too strong. He couldn't get out of the cage. But he didn't need to get out to get to ground.

Jack placed his hands as far up as he could, and sent cold to the metal that kept the cage hanging from the ceiling. He tried to weaken the metal so it would break, but wasn't strong enough without his staff, wherever Pitch had hidden it.

He stopped and began running from side to side, throwing himself into the bars. He did all he could to get the cage rocking, hoping that the weakened metal wouldn't hold.

Luckily it didn't, and the cage plummeted to the ground with a crash. Jack cried out as he landed wrong on his arm, a crack sounding. The cage rolled before coming to a stop. Jack sat up, and bit back a loud yelp when pain shot up his arm. Definitely broken, then.

But he was on the ground now, and he had to be quick—Pitch had surely heard the crash and would come to investigate. He reached through the bars with the anklet, touching it to the ground. He felt the magic in it respond.

He took a deep, painful breath. He called a single word; a name. "Aster!"

* * *

**Ahem. **  
**I warned you about the dream? I honestly didn't expect it to come out quite so bad as it did, but oh well. I like it.**  
**Erm. Yeah.**  
**It really makes me glad how many of you were holding out hope for Kozmotis. But he's dead. (And yes, he really is dead. Kozmotis is gone now. He's been gone ever since that day. Rejected or not, if Kozmotis had still been around he would never have sat back while Pitch tried to do bad things to Jack.)**  
***deep breath* Hope you guys are ready. Next chapter's gonna be a fallout. And things...*shifty eyes***


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